Coincidence, Non?
by Sivan IXXX
Summary: Her peridot dress billows in the Boston winds. Her scent of wildflowers sends nostalgia burning through his veins. And her eyes; they are those of a lively doe, a doe that Connor has in his sights.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hey guys! I decided to do a short story based on Connor and Aveline's encounter, but more so on a digital art piece by kk-graphics, which is an amazing picture on deviantart. Please, if you guys can, go check it out and leave her a nice comment. But don't forget to tell me how you enjoyed this first chapter.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own any part of UbiSoft or its characters so please do not sue.**

**-Sivan IXXX**

* * *

He never liked crowds. They always had a thousand stories to tell, most of them never good. When they were ones full of an exceptional amount of dishonest faces, he knew which would speak with a forked tongue, and which would tell all at the tip of a knife or at the end of a rifle.

But some held eyes full of fire and more venom than a water moccasin. Because of him. Because of his red skin. Because he forsook the settlements for the wide open plains and the evergreens of the Eastern wilderness. Because the blood running through his veins was some of their own, but not enough to quell their concern.

However, one woman dared to look him in the face; yet, the mirrors to her soul elicited nothing hostile or unfriendly. Rather, they were fiercely discerning—and dark, as black as a raven's feather.

For some unknown reason, they put him at ease; the moment they broke contact, he was thrust back into the moment at hand.

He had a mission to accomplish: seek out the traitor's contacts in Boston, interrogate them to find out his location, and then punish the betrayer. It seemed simple enough, but allies turned quicker than the shadow at dusk, so it was hard to trust anyone.

The Assassin kept a constant reminder to casually glance over his shoulder, to feign staring up into the sun when he was actually scanning the rooftops, and keeping his movements as calm and languid as possible to avoid suspicion. It took much effort to stay undetected when his kind were very rare in the crowded cities—and very unwelcome.

His contact, a young russet-haired lad from one of the settlements nearby, was waiting for him by the docks. There were red coats all around, rifles stocked and ready in their eager hands, as if they had been expecting him. But they paid him no attention after giving him a once over.

"I expected someone more experienced than you," he admitted outright, his eyes scrutinizing the crowd. There were watchful eyes and ears everywhere.

"The Captain did tell me that you weren't afraid to speak your mind. Don't let my boyish looks fool you." He squinted his eyes the color of sea foam.

"You said you have information on the whereabouts of the spies."

"I do, but we should speak somewhere less crowded. I can hardly hear you." Connor nodded once, and started to follow, but a flash of bright green caught his attention. It was that woman again; if he took a few steps forward and stretched out his arm, his hand would be at her shoulder.

She was facing him, but her head was down, focused on something on the wooden table in front of her. Perhaps a woman with high status and a purse full of coins, she was biting her lip in contemplation, giving her a flustered and juvenile appearance. He had been staring at her for too long, but he was waiting to see what she would do.

Her small, delicate hand reached out hesitantly, then drew it back as she looked from item to item, as if she were panicking and didn't know how to choose. Then suddenly, all emotion left her face, and she looked up, directly at him.

She reminded him of a lithe, young doe, watching her surroundings for a predator. Once she'd found him, her eyes didn't dare stray. The calm he once felt began to envelop him again.

He was surprised a little, to see a colored woman in such elaborate attire, and began to wonder if she were from that area. All the others were quite fair—and too fearful to look him straight in the eye.

"Are you coming?" his contact asked. Connor was the first to look away, failing to see the small grin that danced across her face.

They maneuvered through the busy streets to what looked like a small park and stood over by the trees. "There's a guard tower at the docks, guarded by six men 'round the clock. If you're as capable as they say you are, it should be no problem."

"What am I seeking?"

"A list." The younger man started to walk away. They had been together for too long already.

With nothing else to discuss, he returned to the crowded streets and surveyed the higher buildings bordering the docks. There were three towers separated by several boat warehouses spanning the Boston harbor, meaning three possibilities and more than plenty of guards to keep him occupied.

He bumped into someone, hard, and excused himself quietly. A very feminine, strangely accented voice repeated the kind gesture, and he turned. She kept going—that same woman in peridot.

It was strange, to see her for a third time in less than an hour. A coincidence, but nothing more.

Suddenly, he felt lighter, like something was missing. He stopped to give himself a once over and realized that one of his pistols was missing from its holster. Cursing silently, he pivoted on his foot and began to pursue her. She looked over her shoulder, _grinning_ apparently. Was this some kind of game to this silly woman? He had no time for it.

The gap between them was growing smaller and smaller, yet as soon as she was within his grasp, she disappeared. The narrow street had suddenly opened up into a wide avenue, giving her ample room to blend in.

Groaning inwardly, he concentrated a bit harder, separating innocent from enemy until he found her glowing a bright yellow. The chase resumed as he followed the woman deeper into the city, where the buildings were more densely concentrated.

She made a quick right into an alley and he copied her movements. They were isolated now. "Wait," he commanded her.

The young maiden froze in her steps and then turned to him. "*Venez et le prendre de moi." He didn't understand a single word that she had spoken, but she was standing there, seemingly harmless. With her arms at her sides, he felt a little less on edge. Connor moved toward her slowly, uncertain what this woman was going to do. The closer he came, the more he could see the smirk on her face. Her mannerisms reminded him of a cunning fox.

After a few more slow movements in her direction, they were face to face—well, face to chest. Would she really let him examine her for his gun?

He immediately rejected the idea and almost thought it best to walk away. However, the possibility of their never meeting again kept resurfacing in his mind.

As if she could read his thoughts, she removed a blade from her sleeve and swiped at his neck. He jumped back just before it made contact and barely guarded his chest from the fist barreling through the air at him. Although she was slender, there was great strength behind her volleys. Instead of putting all effort into his offense, he parried her fists and simply moved out of the way of her knife.

"This is just a game," he told her. He was barely breaking a sweat. She, however, seemed to be tiring. Her breaths were starting to become ragged, and her attacks were not as swift.

"Bien sûr. Seulement un jeux." Finally, he grabbed her by both of her wrists and pinned them to the wooden exterior of the building behind her.

He leaned in close, close enough to count the brown flecks on her skin. "I cannot understand you."

Her large, dark eyes reminded him of the stars that dotted the night sky. Although in a confined situation, she still held that mischievous smile. "I said,'Of course. Only a game.' You played along well. I know what you're looking for," she breathed. "A list, non?"

"Yes. Where is it?" he asked.

She chuckled briefly. "I don't know. I merely overheard your conversation," the young woman replied, her accent very clear on her vowels. She wiggled a little. "Now, could you please let me go? I don't like having my arms above my head. It makes me feel...unguarded."

He released her, folding his arms across his chest. "Fine. But give me my gun back," he asked of her.

The fox-like woman put her hands in the air, as if surrendering. "Go ahead and take it."

"I'd prefer not to touch you inappropriately."

"Ah, *chut garçon! Just take it. It's in my belt." Her scolding outburst had him taken aback, but he stepped forward and reached behind her anyway. She looked up at him with a curious stare, and he suddenly felt like he was stuck in a longhouse with too many fires. Careful not to let his fingers drop below even an inch from her belt, he pulled it out and replaced it in its holster on his hip. "You don't look like you belong here, monsieur."

"Neither do you."

She laughed again. "You're not afraid to speak your mind."

"I hear that often."

The maiden leaned in close. A light gust of wildflowers followed her. "Then maybe it's true. But there's nothing wrong with that." Her twinkling eyes roamed the shadow of his hood and danced over his entire form before returning to his steady gaze. He couldn't tell what was on her mind. Was she determining his threat level? His intelligence? His allegiance? "Now that you have your gun back, what are you going to do?"

"I have business to take care of."

"Bien sûr. À plus tard," she replied sweetly, doing a slight curtsy before departing from the alleyway. He watched her retreating form sway for just a moment before he examined his surroundings. Beneath his feet was a round, flat object, perhaps to cover the ground, and looked for some sort of sign as to its function.

In small letters on its front, it read, 'To Loyalist guard towers. Do not enter.'

Well, if some benefit came from following the woman in green, she had just made his mission much easier.

Her bright smile was an unusual, but welcome change from all the other faces he'd been greeted with since he started visiting the colonies. Before heading down, he checked all his weapons, and then realized that his repossessed pistol was made of a lighter, more hollow wood. The weight would no longer counterbalance his aim should he be firing and running at the same time.

Obviously, the game was still in effect, and she wanted to play a bit longer.

* * *

**Sooooo...how was it? Terrible? Did they lack chemistry? Not spicy enough? Tell me! I figured Connor and Aveline would have a sort of playful relationship because she looks like the uncanny, quirky kind of woman. Or maybe I'm using myself as a base, but less bold than her. I'd never steal from a guy to get him to follow me.**

**If anything, just please, tell me if I failed in the last scene where they talk to one another and get a little physical. Does anyone get the hint that there's an instant attraction between the two? I hope so! I think I mentioned it at the top in the Author's Note, but this story builds up to a picture created by an artist named kk-graphics on Deviantart. All you Connor/Aveline fans should check it out. The image will really fit in the last chapter.**

***Venir le prendre moi-come and take it from me**

***chut garçon-quiet, boy**

***À plus tard-see you later**

**I'll be using French in the coming chapters just to add to Aveline's New Orleans flavor. Until next time.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks you guys so much for the reviews! I didn't think I'd receive so much positive reception. My writing has gotten a little cruddy; I don't go into as much detail as I used to, so I'm getting back into that for the sake of my audience! More Connerline for you!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own any part of UbiSoft or its characters so please do not sue.**

**-Sivan IXXX**

* * *

Connor was surprised that the pistol had worked as well as it did when he called upon its use. Much lighter than his own, yes, but it fired quickly and it was easy to reload. Perhaps he should thank the woman the next time he saw her.

Little did he know that they would encounter one another again soon.

His mission had gone quite well, thanks to her charming antics in that alley. The red coats hadn't suspected a thing as he cleared each level of the towers. Sure, there were a few that may have caught a glimpse of the tail of his coat or heard the polished floorboards groan under his weight, but they dismissed it and went on their way. He appreciated their flippancy.

It was no surprise to find that the list was heavily guarded. Three men stood guard over the room for several hours at a time, and changed shifts at regular intervals. A patrol of two pairs of red coats with bayonets quietly traipsed the halls, stopped on occasion to engross themselves in deep conversation, then continued on.

It was at a moment like this that Connor pounced on them. One had his back to the window, and thus let out a small yelp of surprise when he felt himself being pulled over the edge and into the water below. The other, in too much of a shock to use the very weapon in his hand, soon followed. He must have had fortune's favor at that moment; the other two detoured into a small room, perhaps to have tea and repose for a time behind closed doors. They wouldn't suspect a thing.

The three men, however, were not easy to be disposed of. They were all about the same size and girth as Connor and wielded swords for close combat rather than a long range rifle. When they saw him stalking their way, they readied themselves, their swords in defensive positions across their chests.

He came in fast and low, taking one by surprise with his swift movements as he swept him off his feet with a hard kick. Before he could muster up a defense, his hunting knife was plunged into his abdomen. One of the remaining two sought to run him through from behind, but the Assassin removed his blade from his first victim, spun around his attacker, and drove the blade hard between his shoulder blades. He fell noiselessly onto his fallen companion, and Connor readied himself for the last one. But it was too late already; the bear of a man tackled him to the floor and they began to struggle. Without a doubt, the noise had alarmed the guards in the other room, and moments later, they were coming out the door.

If he could just reach his tomahawk and manage to get the mountain of a man off of him—

The other two that would have overwhelmed him suddenly fell to the floor, gripping at some imaginary thing on their necks before they passed out. The red coat trying to wring his throat seemed bewildered at the sight, and his grip loosened slightly, but just enough to let Connor coil his legs close to his chest and push the man off of him. He sailed through the air clumsily, losing his hat in the process; the Assassin didn't waste time in subduing his last enemy. Before the man could say a word, his tomahawk had made home in his chest.

Now alone, he cleaned his blades on the garments of the fallen, and began to inquire about the deaths of the two men coming out of the room. They lay there face up, eyes half-lidded as if they were in an unending mirthless daze.

_Poison_ he concluded, plucking one of the small projectiles from its victim's neck. The dart was made of wood, tipped with the venom of a water moccasin and something far more lethal.

"Don't worry; they're definitely dead," a feminine, accented voice assured him. He turned quickly, discovering a figure clad in white and blue with a decorative sash tied about its waist. She was almost as heavily armed as he was, the culprit of the poison darts on her right hip.

And she bore the symbol of the Assassins. "Who are you?" he demanded. Achilles had informed him of another that resided in the deep South, but he wasn't aware of it being male or female.

"*Une amie. And an ally. I follow the same order as you." She emerged from the shadows quickly and stooped over one of the deceased guards. "Are you just going to stand there and watch, or are you going to help me?"

After tossing the dart aside, he examined the other guard on the floor close by. He stole a quick glance at her, but her hat obscured her face from view. Her hands, however, revealed that she was most definitely a colored woman. "What are you searching for?" he asked. The red coat he was searching had nothing of value except a few bullets.

"The key to that door. Certainly, one of them was carrying it." Huffing, she got to her feet, and sought to examine another. Now her back was to him, so he quietly moved on to the next closest to the window.

"Who sent you?"

"I came on my own accord." Very well; she didn't want to speak much. He was a man of little words, anyway. But she was there for a reason, not to mysteriously appear and assist him in his mission.

"What is it that you are seeking?"

"Someone." She moved to the next, roughly jabbing her hands into the guard's pockets. "*Où est-il?" she muttered. He had heard that language spoken once before. That woman in the green dress.

He started to ask her another question, but her voice abruptly cut him off before he began. "*Voila!" she exclaimed, snatching the silver key off of his belt and nearly skipping to the door. Connor raised a brow at her strange behavior and watched as she opened the door to the room before he got to his feet and followed.

She was rummaging through the desk drawers—with that dreaded hat in the way—humming something soft and light. It briefly reminded him of a lullaby his mother used to sing to him before he could walk. Her face was clear in his head now: tanned, smiling, beautiful. Her raven black hair had always carried the smell of rosemary bush and peppermint leaves, and it was soft and silky. He remembered running his nimble little fingers through it—

"Are you okay?" his fellow Assassin asked. Her hands had stilled and the dusty room fell silent. He must have wandered off in his thoughts.

"Yes," he replied firmly, catching a glimpse of her smirking lips before she returned to the papers. He didn't recall the woman in green having a scar.

While she was busy in the drawers, he took the time to look around the small, square room. It smelled like burning oil and fresh wood; someone had been in there recently, perhaps to add to the growing pile of papers on the desk.

"Here we are," she stated, folding the two parchments in front of her to put them in her pocket. The woman started to make her way for the exit when he suddenly sprang into action.

"Wait," he demanded, blocking her exit. Startled by his tone, she took a step back.

"Is there une problème?" she asked cautiously, her dark eyes peering up at him.

"I have to look at those two documents."

"I'll give them to you as soon as I'm done," she informed him, trying to get by. His wide shoulders made it impossible for her to leave. He started to walk towards her and she took several steps back, grinning as she did so. "My word isn't good enough for you?"

"No," Connor admitted outright.

She laughed, placing her hands flat on the desk behind her. "So honest; it's refreshing." He glared at her in impatience and she scoffed. "It would take a lot more than that to make me hand them over."

"I will not fight you for them," he informed her, although his tone said otherwise.

"Bon," she replied sweetly, leaning forward. He stood still as her eyes scanned his face under the darkness of his hood. "I don't feel up to a fight today." She tried to leave again, but this time, he seized her by the arms. Her face held a deadpan expression. "What now?"

"You aren't walking out that door with those papers. Hand them over to me."

Sighing, she rolled her eyes in a childish fashion. "Would it make you feel better if we looked at them _together?_"

Connor clenched his jaw tight, studying the gentle contours of her face for a moment before he let her go. "Fine. But we cannot stay here."

"I'm glad you're seeing things my way." She patted him on the shoulder. "*Suivez-moi," she waved, exiting the room. He turned and followed, the weight of her hand, however light and delicate it was, still rested on him as if it were still there.

Her footsteps were lithe and nimble, but with a few steps, he was just an arm span behind her. A cloud of earthen scents was left in her wake, and he almost stopped to fully inhale it all. The few women he happened to push by in a crowd opted for potent, concentrated scents that reminded him of skunk spray, repulsive and much too strong for his liking. This trail of natural aura consisted of plants native to his region, immediately calming his anxious spirit.

_She's just a woman_ he reminded himself. The hallway finally came to a halt, and she went out the last open window, hanging her legs over the sill. She tipped her hat to him and leaped. Connor peeked out the window just as she disappeared into the azure waters surrounding the wooden harbor.

He waited until she resurfaced to jump; he didn't want to land on her and possibly kill her. The water enveloped him seconds after he jumped, and then he resurfaced, following her to a small landing hidden by the bow of a large merchant vessel. She climbed out and then turned to help him.

Although he didn't need it (at his size, he could pull her back in with ease), he accepted her assistance. Her narrow hands held tight to his own larger one and she pulled as he hoisted himself over. "Thank you," he told her.

"*Il n'y a pas de quoi," she replied with a smile, removing her hat. It was dripping wet, as were the rest of her clothes. He glanced down at himself, then back at her. She had an amused knowing look on her face. "We'll let the sun dry us off."

* * *

"Jonathan Taylor?" she asked.

"No."

"Matthew Hamilton?"

"No."

"Quinn Masterson?"

"No. Is that the right list?" he asked, impatience in his voice. Connor continued to peer up at the wide blue expanse, tracing the clouds with his eyes, and then he glanced over at her. She was kicking her feet back and forth as she lay on her stomach in the grass, her slender pointing finger gliding down the paper.

"It seems this is not the right list because you are saying no to everyone," she mumbled. "Are you even sure there's a traitor in the colonies?"

"Of course," he retorted, sitting up straight to glare at her.

She frowned at his tone, and then sighed. "Calm down, mon ami. It was just a question." They stared at one another a moment before he looked away as his eyes softened. The little clearing that they had found was quite tranquil; the silence was so profound, it made his ears ring. However, the light melody of a evening sparrow off in the distance broke the silence, and he took in a heavy breath, watching as the sun made its way west over the treetops to make room for nightfall. Even in the middle of autumn, the breezes were still warm and the flowers still danced and twirled in their gentle wake.

"It's beautiful out here," she noted aloud, sitting up as well. "Back home is beautiful as well, but this is different." Her eyes rested on a marigold, and she plucked it quickly as if it would have run away. Connor almost reprimanded her for such a childish thing to do, but instead opted to watch her work it into her raven-colored tresses.

"Where is home for you?" he asked.

"Louisiana. New Orleans, to be precise. There's a lot of swampland in the woods—full of alligators, mosquitoes, and marsh trees. They say there are evil spirits trapped down in there, but only to keep the children out." When her hand fell to her lap, her cream-colored blouse slipped off of her shoulder, exposing the smooth, cinnamon-colored skin underneath. Connor stole a quick glimpse before staring at the blades of grass. "You are from around here?"

"A little further up north. My village was a distance away from the colonies," he spoke quietly, softly, as if he were trying not wake someone nearby.

She could sense the sad tremble in his voice, however strongly he used it. "The settlers feel they can take all they want at no cost," she scoffed. "Whether it be land, property, or people...It's very unfortunate," she replied. He did not acknowledge whether he heard her or not, and continued to observe his surroundings, although he could sense the hurt in her tone, too.

He nearly jumped to his feet when he felt something warm and soft creep onto his hand. She meant nothing by her gesture except understanding and empathy, but then was not the time to forge an emotional reprieve.

So as not to insult her, he removed his hand from underneath hers slowly, and grabbed the paper, scanning the list himself. She had only gone halfway down the list. "Adam Smith," he said aloud.

"Is he the traitor?" she asked, leaning in to get a better look.

"Yes. I should have known," he growled.

Her hand rested on his shoulder. "Save it for the fight." Connor glanced down at her, absorbing her words, and she went for the other paper. "It seems dry enough. Wait..." Carefully, she pried it apart and discovered there were two pieces of paper. "*Quelle surprise," she muttered, reading it quietly to herself. He waited in brief silence before she handed it to him. "It appears that list has been invited to a party of a friend of my father's."

She got to her feet and stretched, feeling her vertebra uncoil with a light snapping noise.

Connor got to his feet as well, dusting off his trousers. A curious glance was thrown his way, perhaps due to her never having seen a male's bare chest before that day; he didn't fail to notice the slight tint in her face when their eyes met again. "It will not be easy to stay undetected among a large group of people dressed as we are."

The young woman went for her scarf to tie about her waist. She turned to him and smiled brightly; it was a smile that he saw children use when they were up to something. A strange woman indeed.

"Then we shall hide in plain sight."

* * *

**Looks like they're going to a party. They'd stick out like a sore thumb, because 1) people of color were not a part of the wealthy class, unless one of their parents was White and they were 'passing' physically and 2) back then, people of color were the oddity as opposed to modern day demographics. So it should be interesting to see how they manage to pull this off.**

**Once again, we see the playful side of Aveline, as well as a sensitive topic for the both of them, and in the aftermath of their personal experiences, they feel drawn to each other, even though Connor's all business and proper. She seems to remind him a lot about his past life, when things were peaceful and lovely for him, which I did intentionally. I'll try to flesh out their emotional bond so that it evolves in a natural, realistic way.**

***Une amie-a friend **

***Où est-il?-Where are you?**

***Voila-there it is!**

***Suivez-moi-follow me**

***Il n'y a pas de quoi-it was nothing, or you're welcome**

***Quelle surprise-what a surprise**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Once again, you guys are an amazing audience! I'm sorry if this update is kinda late. It seems I've been really busy lately. But anyway, more Aveline and Connor!**

**Also: I must apologize to Both-ofUs-YouandMe for not putting the translation right next to the sentence. I was in such a hurry to get chapter 2 done, I forgot about your personal request. I'll do it in this chapter just for you!**

**Note: The party happens in the next chapter.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own any part of UbiSoft or its characters so please do not sue.**

**-Sivan IXXX**

* * *

As Connor redressed himself, "We have to find something for you to wear to the party," she told him.

"What do you have planned?" he asked, turning to her. She was fully dressed, adjusting the tip of her hat.

"We will show up as guests."

"All the attention would be on us."

"*Ah, ne t'inquiet pas! (Don't worry!) Only for a moment; you see, métis children are becoming less and less of a rarity in the colonies. A shock at first, yes, but who doesn't like a little excitement in their life?" she grinned, heading back towards the town.

"Wait," he ordered her. Her head turned slightly in his direction. "If I am to trust you, I must at least know your name."

"Aveline." She turned around to face him. "And your name, monsieur?"

"Connor."

Aveline made a face. "What kind of a name is Connor?"

"Would you prefer Ratonhnhaké:ton?" he asked, slightly annoyed.

"Absolument non," she breathed. "Fair enough. Let us go find you something appropriate...Connor." She purred his name, and he felt something fluttering in his stomach, as if he had swallowed a certain winged insect. He should have just told her his Mohawk name; that way, she couldn't make him feel that way every time she said his English alternative.

They walked in silence through the field, the sun slowly but surely disappearing into the trees. The crickets were already beginning their nightly aria, ushering in the evening with their constant, unending chirping. It was days like this when he found himself lying under a tree, his long legs outstretched and his eyes to the heavens, watching the sky transition from sapphire blue, to purple and eventually near black so that he could watch the stars dancing in the vast expanse above him.

"You seem to spend a lot of time in the clouds," Aveline noted. He broke from his trance and trained his eyes to her walking form. Despite the tall grass and dried flora beneath their feet, he couldn't hear her footsteps, as if she were walking on air.

"It was a habit of mine when I was a child."

She hummed. "Mine too," she replied barely above a whisper.

* * *

When they reached Boston, it was just minutes away from nightfall, and the streets were eerily quiet and calm. The hustle and bustle of daily life had finally died down, and now the store owners were sweeping their fronts, putting away unsold goods for the flurry of potential customers of tomorrow, and shooing hungry dogs and beggars alike. The Red coats were constantly on patrol, marching in fours down the cobblestone street, silent and constantly on alert. News about the Assassins' attack on the dock towers had died down significantly, and the bells had stopped tolling long ago.

"Is it always like this at night?" she asked.

"No. There was a time when riots were commonplace, so this is a rare occasion."

"Revolutions aren't won in silence, mon ami." The duo continued on in silence, cutting through alleyways and wide avenues as if she had lived there her whole life.

"Are you lost?" he finally asked.

"No," she replied in a sing-song voice. "Merely looking for the right candidate...Ah!" She pointed to an open window with its curtains illuminated by the candle inside, giving the material an eerie gold-brown glow. "That is where we shall find your gentleman wear." Aveline walked towards the building and began to search for a sturdy footing. He followed close behind.

"How do you know a woman isn't in that room?" he hammered softly. The timbre in his voice was echoing off the walls, no matter how softly he tried to speak. Aveline was acting foolish, climbing into stranger's homes for clothing he could find at the Homestead.

She turned to him, smiling with all the confidence she could muster. "I'm sure she has a husband." And with that, she started to climb at an almost surreal pace, sliding through the wooden pane just moments after she spoke to him. He anticipated hearing a hair-raising scream or the surprised and angry yell of a perturbed colonist, but none came. Connor looked up and down the street; it was only a matter of time before the Red coats came from around the corner and began to suspect him, the Indian, to be up to something outside an open window, perhaps waiting for his partner so that they could escape with stolen goods.

He thought of whistling to her, trying to capture her attention, but she wasn't a dog. Sighing exasperatedly, he began to tap his foot, glaring at the window. Finally, she emerged and beckoned him to the window. "Catch," she whispered loudly, tossing down a few articles of clothing. He caught them and tried to neaten them as much as possible before she dropped out of the window and onto her feet as silent as a cat.

"You see? *Pas de problème. (Not a problem) Now—" Six Red coats emerged from the other end of the street in jolly conversation until they caught sight of the pair: one brown woman dusting off her pants, and one brown man holding a pile of clothes underneath an open window.

"Hey! Thieves!" one of them yelled, giving chase. The others quickly followed suit, and Aveline cursed under her breath, "*Zut! (Darn!) Come on!" she ordered, taking off at an amazing speed down the street. Connor followed as best he could, trying to stuff the clothes under his arm as he ran. The British soldiers were not in the best shape, and with the moon as their only source of light until the street lanterns were ignited, they couldn't make out a pole from a person.

Aveline disappeared around a corner and he followed, immediately honing in on a pile of loose leaves. He jumped in and held his breath, listening to their heavy, lethargic footsteps come to a halt, their breaths labored after their brief sprint. "Where did those Indians go?" one asked.

"I haven't a clue. I'm sure one was an Indian woman and one was a man."

"No. Both of them were female; they both had long hair. The one carrying the clothes was awfully big."

"You know the Indians are big; you can't tell male from female sometimes." Connor rolled his eyes as he listened to their conversation. Their viewpoints were limited to hearsay and speculation, not from actual facts and experience with his people.

"Enough about the Indians; we have to find them quick before they sell the clothes." Their footsteps dragged on slowly in the dirt until he could no longer hear them. Moments before he stepped out, he could hear another set of footsteps, soft and light.

"Connor?" Aveline called out.

"I'm here," he replied, getting to his feet, most of the clothes in hand. She laughed, a mixture of a light gasp and a chuckle, a noise that sounded like it was full of color.

"Ingenius; hiding in the leaves." She bent over to get the rest and piled them on top of the clothes in his hands. "I'm sure you're ready to retire for the night after such a long day."

"Yes," he admitted, heading in the direction of the Homestead. And: "Have you arranged to stay with someone?" Aveline shrugged her shoulders in a child-like manner, "I don't know anyone here, but you, mon ami. However, I'm sure I can—"

"Come with me," he ordered more than suggested, and she followed, falling in step with him down the cobblestone road.

"Thank you. I hope I won't be of any inconvenience to you. I had no intentions of staying here after I found what I needed, but I didn't expect to meet you, either," she chortled.

"You won't be an inconvenience. I do not live alone."

"Oh," she remarked in an amused tone, as if she had come to a sudden revelation. Whatever conclusion she had drawn, he didn't address, and thus opted to remain silent. The city landscape suddenly transitioned into a densely wooded area, the road now soft dirt beneath their feet. With just the moon and stars as their illumination, she traipsed rather close to Connor, almost grabbing onto his coat like a frightened child.

He sensed her presence to be closer than usual. "Are you afraid of the dark?" he asked.

"Of course not," she replied quickly, nearly tripping over a fallen branch. "I'd rather not get lost in the middle of a forest I don't know."

"There's nothing in there that you can't fend off."

"I'd rather not fight with a pack of wolves for my life." A creature made a low growling noise off to their right, and she instinctively got a hold of his arm. "*Qu'est-ce que c'est?(What is it?)"

Connor chuckled softly. "A pig. I'm certain he would love to chew on your hat." Aveline smacked his arm lightly, causing his muscles to tense, but he relaxed, forgetting that she came from a different culture, a different way of life.

"He won't get to my hat. He'll have to use those stubby legs of his to catch me first," she mumbled, letting him go. "You live somewhere in there?" she pointed into the darkness in front of them.

"I do. And others, as well."

"Are they colonists?"

"Some were. Others found their way here straight from the boat. And I have rescued some."

"Rescued from what?"

"Death and other things."

"Ah. Very noble-minded of you. And now you have decided to take me in, *la jeune fille a perdu (the lost girl) from New Orleans," she teased.

"Your stay in the colonies is permanent?" he questioned, making a slight right onto a decline. The lanterns of the blacksmith were still bright and easy to track through the densely rooted evergreens.

"Maybe, maybe not," she sighed. At last, they had reached the Homestead. The Mayer boys were gathered around the fire with the O'Brien children, telling tall tales about some creature of their imaginations. It was only a matter of time before their mothers came out and ushered them inside to get ready for bed. Everyone else had retired already with the exception of Big Dave, who was smoldering the fire in his furnace. He looked up from his work, catching sight of the pair.

"Ah, Connor, you're back! All is well?"

"Yes, everything is quite well."

The blacksmith's eyes fell on Aveline and he raised his brows in interest. "Who's your lady friend?"

Before he could reply, she stepped forward, extending her hand, "Aveline de Grandpré."

He accepted it, smiling, "I didn't know Connor had an eye for such beauty. The pleasure's all mine, madame." The male Assassin made a face at the big man and he laughed. "Relax, Connor. It's all in good fun."

He turned to Aveline, who had a blank but curious look on her face until their eyes met, and she looked away. He wondered what was on her mind, but only for a moment before they continued past the cabins. The children were whispering among themselves and laughing until Connor stood in front of them. The female Assassin looked on in keen interest; how would he address the children?

"Mister Connor!" the red-haired boy addressed him. "Do you need help?"

"Not today, Seamus. Shouldn't you all be in bed?" he asked in an authoritative voice. Aveline watched as all the children's faces dropped one by one.

"Yes...but we're not tired," the little blonde girl admitted in her tiny voice. "Oh, please don't tell our mothers! We don't want to get in trouble!"

"I won't, but how are you going to get big and strong if you don't sleep at night?" Connor asked. They looked to one another for the answer, but said nothing in return. "Now, it's off to bed for you all."

Seamus got to his feet immediately, "Right away, Mister Connor. Good night. Come on, guys." They hurried behind him down the road and disappeared around a corner.

The male Assassin continued up the road with the clothes in his hands. He could hear Aveline behind him laughing softly to herself. "Do you find something humorous about this?"

"No. The children are *trés jolies (very cute). They must look up to you, like an older brother."

"They've taken a liking to following me around the Homestead. Their mothers appreciate the little time they have to themselves." The road began to steadily incline; the largest house was slowly coming into view against the backdrop of the moon.

"Where are their fathers?" she asked. He knocked on the door several times before turning to her.

"Dead." Her expression became crestfallen, and then the door opened wide, letting out the warmth and light inside the house. There stood an older man about a shade darker than her, resting the weight of his left side on a cane. He seemed to be expecting them—well, Connor, at least. His black, piercing eyes studied her for a moment, and she tensed, suddenly uncomfortable under his scrutiny.

"You're late," he reminded the younger male Assassin. His accent was foreign to her. "And you brought a woman home. Unless you saved her life—"

"Achilles, she's an Assassin," Connor informed the older man. His eyes widened slightly, and they looked to her apologetically, but only for a moment.

"Come in, both of you." He stepped aside, letting them into the warm house. Connor dropped the pile of clothes in his hands on the cushioned bench next to the door. Aveline admired the paintings on the cream-colored walls, and then looked down at the polished wooden floor. It was a well-kept house and apparently not that old. She could still smell the life from the trees cut down to create the support beams of the house. "You are from the South, yes? I was aware, but not that you were a woman. What brings you to the colonies?"

"I'm looking for someone. I got a lead that he might be here in Boston." She removed her hat, revealing her glossy raven-colored hair.

"Have you proven successful?"

"No. But we have discovered that a friend of my father's is having a party tonight. One of his guests has information Connor and I can use."

The older man turned to Connor. "The traitor has finally been tracked down?"

"I believe there is more to it than this one man. I will be attending the party with her to find him and interrogate him for more information."

Achilles seemed to be weighing his words in his head before he nodded in agreement. "Good. Connor, show her to an extra bedroom."

"Good night," she addressed him, bowing slightly before following Connor up the stairs. They groaned under his weight, yet remained silent under hers. He must have carried quite a load around; she observed him from afar when they had first met. He wasn't a small man, and probably hadn't been a small boy. The male Assassin was taller than most in the colonies, and comprised of a muscular stock. She hadn't seen too many Indians in her life, but they didn't look, talk, or move the way he did. He was inhumanly fast for someone his size and could probably outrun her over a long distance.

Once on the second floor, he passed a few open doors and stopped at one that was closed. "The wash room is three doors down the hall," he told her, opening the door. The room had a bed large enough for two, a single wooden dresser with a mirror, a night stand next to the bed, and a window on the wall opposite the door. "You will find something to sleep in in one of those drawers."

"Thank you, Connor. You do know how to make a woman feel welcome," she joked.

He started to say something, but remained silent for a moment, looking down at the ground. "You're welcome...Aveline." When he looked up, his eyes fell upon her loosening her hair, letting the long braids fall onto her shoulders before she began to loosen the ties on the front of her blouse. She met his eyes with her own, raising her brow.

"Oui?" she asked, halting her fingers in their progress. Connor seemed to be coming back to the moment as he cleared his throat and hurried out the door, closing it firmly behind him. "*Quel un homme trés étrangé (Such a strange man)." She stared at the space where he had been standing and smiled to herself, wondering why her heart was behaving like a skittish colt.

* * *

The next morning came quickly, and Connor awakened as he always did. His eyes opened quickly and he immediately sat up, taking in a heavy breath before he got to his feet. Early mornings were always crisp and cool before the sun thawed out everything it touched as the day wore on. Sleeping without a shirt only made sense during the summer solstice and they were well on their way into winter.

The Assassin stretched, flexing the muscles in his back and shoulders before he opened the door and slowly made his way to his guest's room down the hall. Her door was still shut tight; he hoped he hadn't made her uncomfortable last night with his behavior. He wondered what was happening to himself for the better part of the night, why he suddenly didn't mind when she touched him, when he was ready to bring his tomahawk down on anyone who got too close, let alone _touch_ him. Her abyssal, deep pools for eyes worked like a hex on his nerves; he couldn't stop himself from peering into them.

He thought he had experienced everything: freedom, peace, suffering, vengeance, and mourning. But what was this constant stirring in his heart? Was he falling ill? Had he been poisoned?

The day would not cease for his meditations, so he pushed them aside and knocked on her door. She said nothing in reply, so he addressed her, "Aveline." She failed to respond again, so he tried the knob. It opened silently, and he stepped inside to find her still sound asleep.

Connor watched her for a moment in silence. It looked as if she would wake up at any moment. Her lengthy, ink-black lashes were a stark contrast against her honey-colored skin, her lips were slightly parted as she softly breathed in and out, and her dark tresses cradled her face as she lay on her side. The blanket failed to cover the sharp dip between her waist and her hip and he moved to make her decent as she slept. He took one step forward, and Aveline sighed quietly in her sleep before her eyes fluttered open.

He suddenly grew uncomfortable with her staring at him with a far-off look in her eyes for so long as her sleep wore off. "Morning already?" she asked. A foreign chill crept up his spine at the sound of her sultry voice in the moments after awakening, and he mentally shook his head; this woman was going to drive him crazy.

"Yes. I came to awaken you," he replied. Aveline huffed, then sat up. The ill-fitted shirt—perhaps one of his own he had forgotten to remove from the room —draped dangerously low, revealing the smooth skin of her chest. Connor looked down at the ground, regretting ever entering her room to rouse her from sleep. She was a grown woman fully capable of waking herself. "I believe that is one of my shirts," he revealed to her.

"*Vraiment? (Really?)" She seemed amused, getting out of bed. Apparently, he had forgotten his _pants_, too. They hung loosely on her hips, threatening to fall to the floor if she moved another step. "I wondered why they were so big on me." Aveline tugged on the string holding the front of the trousers together, and Connor nearly trampled down the door to get away from her. "You don't mind, do you?"

"No. I have more than enough clothing to last without the ones you're wearing."

The floorboards creaked under her weight as she stepped towards him. "Are you okay, Connor? You seem ill." Her soft, slender hand touched the side of his face, and he felt as if he were too close to the fireplace in the dining area.

He grabbed her hand, gingerly, and put it at her side as he looked down at her. "I'm fine." She nodded, then looked down at their touching hands, and looked back up at him.

This was the first time she had ever seen him without his hood. He looked like one of the European colonists, yet he clearly was not; they did not tan as deeply as he did. Nor were their cheek bones as pronounced or their stature as defined. They were not accustomed to the harshness of this land, but he was. His russet-colored eyes bore holes into hers, and she made the mistake of staring at his mouth before he spoke again, breaking her concentration.

"Aveline?" The timbre in his voice made her shiver.

"Um..." she started to say awkwardly, and he too realized what was happening. They withdrew their hands from each other's warmth, refusing to look in one another's eyes once more. The silence in the air was deafening, yet neither made the effort to break it. Finally, "I'll go freshen up," she mumbled, hurrying out the door.

Connor stood there, balling his fists before he exhaled quietly, clenching his jaw as he did so before he left the room.

* * *

**Sorry for the late update; I've been so busy as of late! I thought I'd get around to the party in this chapter, but I guess I had a lot more I could flesh out between their first meeting and the party. I threw in a bit of the Homestead since that setting is basically Monterrigioni from the second game and Tiber Island from Brotherhood.**

**What's happening between them is not lust, that animal thirst for the mommy daddy dance. His attraction to her was instant in Chapter 1 because he saw something kind in her eyes. You know what they say, the eyes are the mirror to the soul. Aveline is attracted to his outer appearance because she recognizes it immediately, but that's the first thing we see, so...yeah. Also, she noticed how kind he was to the children; what woman wouldn't gush over that sight? So all in all, they're starting to like each other and it's only going to show more and more with each chapter.**

** They say people can fall in love at first sight, so I guess this is a slightly less quicker fall than what people describe. There will be something in the future that will threaten that bliss they're feeling around each other.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Sorry for the long delay; I had to revamp this chapter over and over again. I had to make everything that happens in this chapter as realistic as possible. I've had male consultants helping me with this one.**

**Note: The little part at the end of the 3rd chapter where she touches his face and then they awkwardly hold hands...Aveline was just being nice. He comes from a hands-off upbringing, and she was shown a lot of love by her parents. This was shown in Liberation.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any part of UbiSoft, so please do not sue.**

* * *

**The Party, Partie Un**

In the hours before the event, Connor only saw glimpses of Aveline throughout the day; and after experiencing such glimpses, he wasn't sure if he could handle much more after he had gained further insight into her personality.

She loved to play with children. The O'Brien boys tagged each other around her while the little blonde girl, Paula, braided her hair, putting white daisies behind each of her ears. After she finished her hair, Aveline got to her feet and started chasing them around, mimicking a bear as they screamed and laughed, running as fast as their feet could carry them. Their mothers looked on with contented smiles on their faces and talked quietly among themselves, perhaps approving of her tender nature. The Collins' new baby, Hannah, reached out for her, and she gladly took the infant and kissed its rosy cheeks.

She also liked animals. David Callahan's eggs had hatched, and the fuzzy, yellow chicks were running about the Homestead. Aveline chased after them, laughing unabashedly as she did so. The Elwes' colt needed brushing, and she took it upon herself to do so. As she glided the brush over its slick, red-brown coat, she whispered to it, running her hand through its wild mane of hair. The young stallion seemed to respond to her voice, whinnying softly as it nudged her head with his own.

Connor wanted a reason to dislike her, but the more he searched for evil, the more he found that her heart was good. He didn't know how he would manage at the party, having to walk hand in hand with her, perhaps even dance with her.

He didn't know how. The Europeans' way of dancing was strange, calculated and rigid. He would rely heavily on Aveline and be forced to follow her lead.

The pondering Assassin had almost forgotten that he was wielding an axe, in the middle of doing a favor for Thomas, who had thrown out his back lifting a log. He had a demand for a dozen chopped cedar trees for a new long house on the other side of the Homestead.

Taking in a heavy breath, he lifted the weapon over his head and then brought it down on the fallen tree. It was a young cedar, but exceptionally thick; he'd be at its trunk for some time. He repeated his actions again and again, causing sweat to break forth on his forehead and chest. The slight breeze in the air cooled the bare skin of his muscled torso as he worked; the world around him faded into the background, his labored breaths loud in his ears—

Something hot and light brushed his shoulder, and in a flash, he had the person pinned between his body and the closest tree standing near to him.

It was Aveline, slightly panicked and wide-eyed. "I thought you heard me calling your name," she told him. His eyes softened a little, and he huffed in response.

Connor looked around them; he was a distance away from the settlement. The children knew not to venture this far into the woods alone because it grew very dense just before it opened into a vast canyon. "It's never a smart idea to surprise me like that; I had an axe in my hand."

She smiled nervously; her heart was pounding furiously against his chest. "Je suis desolée (I'm sorry). I was yelling your name." He let her go shortly after and turned away from her, picking up the axe to resume his work—anything to keep from looking into her eyes again. If she had been more forceful with her touch, he would have murdered the woman where she stood.

"Did you need something?" he asked her before he cut into the tree. She watched him work for a moment before replying, "Yes, I need your assistance." Connor removed the axe from the wood, flexing the muscles in his arms as he did so, and then looked to her, waiting for her to continue.

"You must learn to dance a little," she said with a grin.

The male Assassin cleared his throat. "What if I already know how?" he asked. Aveline wrinkled her nose in the manner of a child.

"*Tu ne me dit pas la verité (you're not telling me the truth). If you did, the floorboards of your home wouldn't groan like an old man. Put that axe down; it's important that you learn."

"Why?" he protested, hanging the handle of the axe across his shoulders.

"You are supposed to be my _dignified_ partner with class and proper etiquette, and not what they think you are: a savage. Also, I'd appreciate it if you didn't step on my toes. You don't have the feet of a sparrow." He stared hard at her and she approached him, removing the weapon from him and setting it against the butchered cedar log. "Now, take my hand," she ordered, extending it towards him.

"I'm covered in sweat."

Aveline rolled her eyes. "Don't fuss over a little water. Here." She grabbed his left hand and raised it in the air. "It's a partnership, really." She extended her arm so that their palms were flat against each other. "Now we circle, slowly." Connor did as she said, keeping his eyes on her; she walked with her head turned slightly away from him, so that just one eye was on his movements. "Now come close." She took his right hand and put it just above her hip bone, and put her left hand in his. Her free hand rested on his shoulder, feverish and soft. He had the right mind to focus on her forehead, but her twinkling eyes kept his attention. "Have you ever danced before?"

"No."

"It shows," she said with a smile.

"How so?" he asked in a harsher tone than intended. He held his father's face, but his mother's sharp tongue.

"You're very stiff. Just relax." They danced for a brief time to a rhythm only they knew. The forest was still and quiet, as if all living things were watching them with keen interest. The shine in her eyes suddenly faded, and the smile gradually crept from her lips. "Connor, I—"

A branch snapped over to their right, and the both of them looked in that direction, waiting for someone to appear. "It was probably just a raccoon," Connor dismissed, turning his sights back to her. "You were about to tell me something?"

She opened her mouth, then closed it, blushing. "I-It's nothing. We'll do fine at the party. I should start making preparations." Aveline let him go and began to walk away; then she remembered something. "Connor." He was in mid-reach for the ax when he turned to her, his brows raised. "Thank you...for doing this." The Native nodded his head once and went back to work.

The female Assassin took her time returning to the Homestead, observing the wildlife around her. She'd rather live and sleep under the cover of the trees any day. Eventually, the settlements came into view, and she began to search for any woman close to her size; she needed a dress. Her poor green one had taken a beating when she fell in the mud shortly after her first encounter with Connor.

"...I would love to see the pretty lady if she hasn't left already!" a hearty, colorful voice broke into her thoughts. She looked up; it was an older man with a big graying beard and rosy cheeks.

"There she is!" the man named Big Dave announced to the older man the moment he noticed the bronzed woman standing there. The old man turned to her and smiled.

"My, my, you're a beautiful young woman! If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were a mermaid come to steal Connor away from us," he chortled. She returned the kind gesture, "That's not my intention, I don't think. My name is Aveline de Grandpré."

"Ah, a belle from Louisiana, no doubt. I am Robert Faulkner, first mate on the _Aquila_. Would you like to see Connor's ship? It's right down at the dock not too far from here."

"I'll have to decline, monsieur. Perhaps another day, when I don't have a party to attend."

His eyes twinkled with keen interest. "Is that where you're off to, now? I don't think Connor has ever danced a day in his life; he's as stiff as a board. Maybe a little wine and a dance or two with a fine young woman such as yourself will do the trick," he winked at her.

"Maybe. It was nice meeting you, Mr. Faulkner." She bowed respectfully before going to look for the blonde girl's mother.

"_She's_ an Assassin, too? She's much too pretty to be out there fightin'," Mr. Faulkner remarked.

Big Dave shrugged his shoulders. "She's still alive, so she must do it well. Connor may have found someone who can match him move for move."

"Let's hope so, Mr. Dave. Let's hope so."

Aveline managed to locate Paula's mother, Ruth, hanging her clothes to dry, and inquired about a dress appropriate for a garden party.

"I don't have any sort of dress fancy enough for that, Aveline. Maybe Catherine, the Irishwoman who lives a little further down the road. She may be a wee tinier than you." The female Assassin heeded her words and knocked on the next door further down the dirt path.

A pale, thin woman with sky blue eyes and red-brown hair opened the door. "Yes?"

"Ruth said that you could help me find a dress appropriate for a garden party," she replied, already doubtful that she could help. Ruth was right; Aveline was a little bit taller than her, which wasn't the problem, but the woman looked as if she barely ate, while she had the healthy curves of a woman.

"Come inside. Ruth did right by directing you to me." She opened the door wider, and four children came into view, perhaps a year apart each, ranging from toddler to about age nine. They looked at their guest with curiosity, their identical azure eyes peering up at her.

"You tan an awful lot," the oldest noted.

"Sarah!" her mother reprimanded her.

"It's alright," Aveline assured the woman. "It's true. The sun loves me," she grinned. The little girl gave her a quick smile before hurrying up the stairs. The others followed while the toddler reached up for Aveline. She gasped at feeling the baby's fingers digging into her calf, but she stooped over and scooped up the boy, tapping his nose playfully. The baby cooed and reached for her fingers.

"It seems Alvin has taken a liking to you already. You can hold him while we look through my unstitched dresses if you like."

"I'd love to," she replied. Something stirred inside her as she carried the child, looking deep into his eyes. They were a chestnut brown; she had seen a pair of eyes recently that looked exactly the same, but carried by a much bigger, darker man that she was slowly beginning to think of more often than she needed to.

* * *

An hour or so later, Aveline was headed back to the Davenport estate with a brown wrapped package in hand with a large smile on her face. The dress was perfectly stitched to her proportions, and Catherine had even allowed her to borrow a pair of matching shoes.

She came upon the door and was almost expecting Achilles to be greeting her, but he failed to appear. Opening the door, she stepped inside, closing it again with her foot before she started towards the stairs.

"You must have good news," Connor's voice interrupted her thoughts, and she jumped, dropping the package on the ground.

"Zut! Connor, you scared me," she sighed. He gave her a lopsided grin before he walked towards her, fully dressed now.

"You've only been here a day and they're giving you gifts already?" he asked with curiosity, reaching for it. She was quick to snatch it up into her arms.

"Yes. The other women seem to appreciate the attention I give their children. Now if you'll excusez-moi, I must go prepare for the party," she replied quickly, heading up the stairs. She cut her eyes at him playfully. "Shouldn't you be doing the same, monsieur Connor?"

He smirked, folding his arms across his chest. "I will be ready when you are." She raised her brows at him and then disappeared up the stairs. His eyes followed her until the sound of a door closing reverberated in the hall, and then he started to go about his business until he heard the familiar sound of a cane tapping the polished floor.

"I see you two have no trouble getting along. That is a good sign, I suppose," Achilles told the younger man.

"You suppose?" Connor echoed, watching the older man as he headed for the study.

"I see the way you two look at each other. Already, you are giving your heart to this woman you barely know."

"Achilles, I see nothing wrong with befriending a fellow Assassin," he replied, following his Mentor into the book room.

"Befriending is one thing; courting is another."

"Achilles," he sighed, exasperated. "We're far from in love. You're seeing things."

"You're correct; I see your eyes following her everywhere she goes. You are a bull in heat. You must get your emotions under control before they control you. Her Mentor has sent me a letter concerning her occasional failure to heed his instructions."

"Do you not think she would make me aware of this? Or is this an attempt to control me?" he demanded. Their discussions often ended as arguments such as this; couldn't they save their confrontations for after Aveline returned home?

"I'm not trying to control you, boy. I'm trying to make you_ listen_ to reason. Remove your heart from her hands before she crushes it."

Disgusted, Connor ignored his warning and stormed out of the room, heading for his own bed chambers to get ready. As he traveled up the stairs, he could hear someone singing loudly, but it wasn't terrible. Rather, it made him feel warm, and he paused to listen carefully. The voice was indistinct, but gentle and lulling, like the arias of a loving mother.

His heart began to pull him in the direction of the voice, but Achilles' words rang in his ears. He opened the door to his room and stepped inside just as the door to the washroom opened.

Aveline stepped out, rubbing her hair dry with the cloth as she observed his door close shut. She dismissed it as nothing and headed for her room.

"Aveline, a moment," Achilles called up to her. Without delay, she hurried to him, "Oui, Master Achilles?"

"Please, just Achilles," he informed her gently. "I called you simply to remind you of something, so do not fear punishment. I am aware that you are older than Connor, thus the tenets enforced in the Brotherhood are more steadily placed in your mind, particularly the one that orders that we don't compromise the Brotherhood. I expect you to uphold this at this event as well as in my home. In the duration of this party, it'd be best not to kill anyone, let alone harm any of the attendants and raise the alarm. Connor does well in this area, but I did not train _you_."

"You have nothing to worry about. The tenets of the Creed are the same wherever I go," she assured him. "But how could I compromise the Brotherhood in your home?"

"Our values are preserved through recruiting Assassins, as I'm sure you're aware, as well as birthing them. But pursuing a course of reckless fraternization during times of war is most unwise." His words began to sink into the mind of the young woman, and she shifted from foot to foot, suddenly uncomfortable.

She cleared her throat. "I understand. I will not fail the Brotherhood." At that, she bowed slightly, and nearly sprinted up the stairs, closing her bedroom door firmly behind her.

Achilles turned towards his own bed chambers, ready to sit and rest his legs. "Young people will never learn," he muttered.

* * *

Connor had been waiting at the base of the stairs for nearly half an hour when he began to tap his foot impatiently on the polished wooden floor. The paper said that the event began promptly at 6 P.M, and he didn't want to be a part of the only brown couple to show up late and reaffirm their assumptions about his and her kind.

Aveline had done an exceptional job of matching her colors when stealing his clothes for the party. His outfit consisted of a crisp white shirt, a deep blue waistcoat with the matching jacket, and a pair of black trousers with leather brown shoes. However, the clothes must have belonged to a lean man, unlike himself; the material cut into every contour of his legs and backside. When observing himself in the mirror, he groaned loudly upon realizing this, and opted to keep his jacket on the entire night.

"She hasn't come out of her room yet?" Achilles asked as he approached slowly.

"No. And this event begins in less than half an hour. This will not reflect well on us," he sighed, fussing with the last button on his shirt. It refused to stay closed, thus exposing a small part of his chest. The cravate would conceal it well enough.

"Relax, Connor. You will be on time. She was raised as a child with high status in New Orleans; no doubt she's been to countless events such as this," he informed the tense young man.

"Then she should know about time management very well," he growled. Finally, a door upstairs opened, then a pair of heeled feet _click-clacked _their way to the stairs. The male Assassin tried his best not to stare, but he wasn't sure if he were looking at the same woman he had met in Boston.

The banister concealed her body from him, but her face was clear as day. With the shadow of that hat over her features and her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, he failed to see the feminine characteristics that made Big Dave say that she was a fetching young woman.

Connor looked down, remembering Achilles words to him earlier that day. If he stared too long, he'd get drawn in by those doe-like eyes. "Are you ready?" he asked.

"Oui, if you are." She started down the stairs, and he looked up; a flash of red was all he saw before she was standing right next to him. Her scent was fresh and light, like river water on a hot day; he wanted to get there already and immerse himself in unpleasant, forced smells of expensive perfume. "How do we look, Achilles?"

"The best disguises I've seen. Be careful and look out for one another," he instructed. "Mr. Faulkner will take you to the garden party in the carriage."

"Parfait (Perfect)! I hadn't thought of that. We'll be back soon, Achilles," Aveline beamed, heading out the door. Connor glanced at his instructor, who said, "Remember Connor, control your emotions."

The Native nodded once and then stepped out into the chilled night air. Crickets chirped loudly in the air as they waited in silence until Aveline cleared her throat and studied his appearance. "You look very nice, Connor," she complimented.

His muscles tensed, yet he refused to look at her. "Thank you."

"Is something wrong, Connor?" she asked.

"No. I fear we'll be late."

"Not to worry, mon ami (my friend). We will be fine. Oh! I must tell you something, mais peut-être (but maybe) on the way there." He said nothing in reply as Mr. Faulkner came up the hill with George and Sugar, his Clydesdales, pulling the old carriage.

"Lord and Lady," he bowed. "You two look fitting for the occasion. Connor, you'd best keep your eye on her; those men will be itchin' to dance with Aveline."

"Aveline may dance with whoever she wishes; I am dressed as her servant," he informed the old man, opening the door for her to step inside and sit down. Once she was settled, he got in and sat next to her. Mr. Faulkner cracked the whip and they jerked forward, moving down the road at a steady pace.

"I must tell you..." she dragged out.

"Yes?"

"You're not supposed to be my servant."

"Then what am I to you?"

"My fiancé."

"Excuse me?" he asked. "Why was I not informed of this before?"

"Why does it matter? It's not like we're actually getting married!" she laughed, trying to ease the situation.

"If I had the choice, I'd have declined before I put on this ridiculous outfit. I don't see why I couldn't have worn my captain's uniform."

"You are to be a gentleman; a sailor doesn't garner as much respect as the wealthy half-Native son of a British tea merchant."

"Tea merchant?" he echoed.

"It was the only thing I came across in raiding their ships. Now, your father married your mother to facilitate getting support for the British in the war and you are the product of their union. Your father is away in London on business and your mother died of typhoid—"

"Leave my mother out of this," he hissed.

Bewildered, she started to say something, then fell silent. "Very well. If anyone asks, they are both in London. Bon (Good)?"

"It's fine," he replied in clipped syllables.

"Connor, if it's something—"

"I said it's fine," he cut her off abruptly. He failed to see the look of hurt on her face, and she took to looking out the window, watching the gated chateau come into view.

Julien de Lusignon was a very well-off friend of Aveline's father, Philippe de Grandpré. A successful art dealer in the New World as well as across the European continent, his business was taken to the shores of North America for potential new clients looking to adorn their homes with lavish pieces of work. He apparently was doing well if he were able to afford the hefty piece of land that his home was situated upon.

They weren't the only ones to arrive just in time for the introductions; a few other carriages were pulling up and their stagecoaches were opening the doors. An assortment of old and young alike, male and female passed through the gate, arms linked as they quietly talked to one another.

"We're here," Mr. Faulkner announced.

"D'accord (Okay)," Aveline sighed, turning to Connor. He continued to look straight ahead at the opposite chair until she touched his arm. When he looked at her, she put her hand in her lap. "Connor, we have to walk, talk, and act as if we are to be married, or they will suspect something is wrong. The Templars here will know."

"I will do as you ask, but do not expect me to play the lovesick fool all night. We're on a mission," he reminded her.

She seemed to be growing irritated. "I know that, Connor. I just need your _willing_ cooperation. What's bitten you and made you bitter?"

"Nothing, woman," he replied, the timbre in his voice growing tense.

"Obviously—"

"Are you two expecting me to get out and hold yer hands? The party is about to start," Faulkner reminded them. Sighing, the male Assassin kicked open the door and held it open for Aveline. She reached out for his hand and nearly tripped when he failed to assist. Someone nearby chuckled at the sight, and she shot daggers at him for not paying attention.

"Connor," she growled.

"You really should be careful," he reprimanded her before hooking his arm with hers. She held onto his forearm and let him lead her inside.

"You two enjoy yourselves. And no more lover's quarrels!" Mr. Faulkner teased before cracking his whip and heading back home. They were on their own now.

Two lanterns stood on each side of the door, which was closed, but the man servants were directing the crowd to the back instead.

"Bonne nuit," they greeted each couple as they passed. They rounded the corner, and their eyes fell upon a tranquil scene dimly lit with paper lanterns hanging high above their heads. The grass was neatly trimmed and bordered with an assortment of fall flowers in colors ranging from white to deep blue. There were no chairs or tables, leaving the pair confused.

"Where are we to sit?" she asked Connor.

"Hopefully not on the grass."

Just as he finished speaking, a tall thin man with a long nose and a powdered wig entered the garden from the main back door of the house and stepped onto the balcony; presumably, it was Julien. "Bonjour, mes amis. I would like to thank you all for coming to support my house warming party. This maison (house) may not be as grand as my castle back in Lyon, but it is beautiful enough. I'm sure you're wondering where you're all to sit. Fear not; the outside part is just the beginning. S'il vous plaît (Please), turn your eyes skyward and await the wonders of the Orient!"

What sounded like the whine of a cannon ball hurtling through the air erupted the silence, and Connor held on tight to Aveline. Whether out of fear or surprise, she didn't know, but the noise had startled her, too. The object finally exploded into a bright shade of green dots in the sky and the crowd gasped in amazement. Soon, many others followed in blue, red, yellow, and white, and after what felt like an eternity, the parade of lights ended, and everyone clapped.

Aveline used the distraction to her advantage. "Once we get inside, I will seek out Julien to ask him about the slaver I'm tracking."

"Slaver? Did he take someone you know? Aveline, this is no time for personal vendettas to take priority."

She seemed uneasy under the heat of his glare. "Not just someone I know, but others as well. Others like me with families and lives suddenly put to a grinding halt for a nation of greedy men with an agenda to become rich off of the backs of my people." The applause soon ended and everyone started to pour inside. They were the only two not moving, glaring at one another. "Wouldn't you do the same if it were_ your_ mother in chains?" she asked.

His stance faltered for a moment as he started to say something in response, but the voice of Julien cut him off.

"Ah, Aveline! Ma cherie, you grow more beautiful each time I see you!" He kissed her on either cheek, diffusing the tension he failed to notice between the two. Connor stood back, waiting for this bird of a man to leave. "Your father did not tell me you would be coming. Is he that ill?"

"Oui. He's bedridden. But Papa will be fine soon," she assured him. The Frenchman's eyes fell upon the dark stranger next to her.

"Qui est-ce cette personne (Who is this person)?" he asked with a warm smile.

Aveline faked a blush, wrapping her arm around Connor's as she put her other hand on his chest. "Julien, this is my husband to be, Connor Kingston."

"Kingston? He's a little dark to be an Englishman."

"His mother is an Indian," she replied, feeling his arm tense beneath her fingertips.

"Ah, a placée bride. Lovely. I didn't know such a policy existed in the colonies, only Louisianne...Ah well. It's a pleasure to meet you, Monsieur Kingston. You are very fortunate to have a beautiful bronze goddess such as Aveline at your side."

"I am," Connor replied, barely showing his teeth. Julien laughed nervously, and silence filled the air until he cleared his throat, "Ahem, shall we head inside?"

"Of course!" Aveline exclaimed, pinching Connor's side. He grunted, glaring down at the crown of her head. She loosened herself from him and latched on to Julien. "I have a matter I wish to discuss with you..." she trailed off, transitioning quickly to French as they headed up the stairs.

Connor took his time following, realizing that, once again, Achilles was right.

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**Ai, je suis desolee for putting this out so late! I caught cold about a week ago and didn't have the brain power to update. So, this chapter is longer than the first 3 because the next will lead into the meat of the party, which will be relatively long. They both have an objective in being there, so Aveline will go her way and Connor will go his.**

**As I said in my last ending notes, Aveline and Connor are starting to see each other objectively and not with a pink cloud around them. Yes, those fuzzy feelings are fine, but they're dangerous if you don't control them. From what I've seen in AC3, Connor is quick to trust people and look for the good in them, which is a noble quality. But, not everyone is trustworthy, which he had to learn over time. Not saying Aveline is not trustworthy, but she's not the perfect counterbalance he thought she was. And yes, she is impulsive in Liberations. The 2 are very much alike; however, as seen at the party, they bump heads for many reasons, one being his mother. She wasn't doing it on purpose; she doesn't know Ziio's fate. And Connor is just being Connor: headstrong, annoyingly vague and distant. **


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I didn't expect to get so many follows, favorites, and reviews for this story! It just makes me tingle all over knowing my writing is appreciated!**

**Note: This chapter is full of party-related material; for all you stoics out there, you have been warned.**

**Also: Turns out this story will be longer than I'd previously anticipated. Isn't that exciting?!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own UbiSoft, in part or whole, including its characters, so please do not sue.**

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**The Party, Partie Deux**

Connor followed Aveline and Julien inside and frowned at the smell of the house. It reeked of scented candles and wine; he could already hear laughter and the soft clinking of glasses coming from the dining area. Inebriated targets were easy to trail, as well as interrogate for answers.

The darkened hallways suddenly exploded into bright lights and a grand hall with polished white marble floors. Several chandeliers made of crystal hung high above them on the ceiling, which was painted in the scene of a naked young woman standing next to a white column in a the midst of a forest. Connor furrowed his brows at the image and then lowered his head, noting that there were several men dressed in identical suits with trays of champagne and wine making their way through the crowd.

They were still conversing in French, seemingly very excited about something; he decided to ignore them simply because he couldn't understand them. Perhaps she was gathering information about the slave trader.

One manservant asked if he wanted a glass, and he politely refused. Alcohol would inhibit his decision-making, and he needed to find the traitor and take him back to Achilles for questioning. He had to be in the crowd somewhere...

"Julien, what can you tell me about the slave trade?" Aveline asked him once they were out of earshot. They were in his study now with the door closed, each with a glass of bubbling champagne in their hand.

The French art dealer swirled the liquid in the glass before taking a quick sip. "Chèrie, you know I don't deal in that business anymore. An art dealer must maintain a good reputation."

Aveline set her glass down on the wooden table, sighing. "Julien, this is very important. Please. It's...my mother."

He studied her face for a moment, his countenance softening before he turned towards his bookshelf, removing a leather-bound volume and placing it on the table. "It's been almost a year now, but I'm sure my contacts haven't given up their business; slavery is too promising a means of living." Aveline glared at him, and he cleared his throat, "Sorry. I only have their names, although I'm sure some of them still reside in the area. I made sure to invite quite a few of them to this party. But I doubt they'll make it easy for you to converse with them about their...transactions."

"Pas de problème (Not a problem). Merci, Julien. You've helped me a great deal," she downed what little champagne she had left and started out the door.

"Aveline, wait," he called. She stopped and turned. "I'll get into a great deal of trouble for telling you this, but Albert Mansley keeps his records in the lining of his jacket. He's been bragging about how many good slaves he received from the Louisiana Territory not too long ago. How you will acquire them is beyond my imagination."

"I'm a smart girl, Julien. I'll figure something out." She turned the knob and returned to the festive occasion, observing a few take modest sips of their wine. It was only a matter of time until they were drowning in alcohol, dragging their heavy feet to their carriages, and waking up at home with a terrible headache with nothing to account for their pain. A glass or two was fine, but an Assassin knew better than to indulge in the product of the vine in a hostile environment. She had already counted the Templars in the room: all twelve of the guards glowed as red as their coats when she used her gift. They wouldn't make it obvious that this Albert Mansley was present if he had any sort of ties to the Templars, and chances were that he did.

It was only a matter of time before the dancing began, and—

"Excuse me," a voice interrupted her thoughts. It was decidedly masculine, so she turned to the source of the voice. And my, was he a handsome fellow. He had the face of a Roman god, chiseled and smoothed to perfection with striking eyes the color of the sky and fetching pair of healthy, pink lips. "I couldn't help but notice that you were standing over here alone. A woman as beautiful as you surely isn't without a date."

Her eyes scanned the crowds; the hulking mass of the Native was nowhere to be found. "I suppose I am. My date seems to have disappeared."

"A shame. He'll miss out on the wonderful opportunity of having a dance with you." As if on cue, the music began, and the couples started to pair up and take center stage. "May I have this dance, belle?" he asked, extending his hand.

"Of course," she agreed, placing her delicate hand in his and allowing him to lead her to the floor.

The crowds looked on as they twirled in a synchronized fashion, unbeknownst to them that a certain Assassin had slipped past their sights and into the recesses of the home. The other rooms were darkened, but his search had to be thorough for the traitor; he could slide right out into the night upon seeing his face. If Aveline weren't still talking to that Julien fellow, then she might be looking for him and growing flustered at that because of his absence. He smiled to himself; she was quite interesting to study when she was the least bit annoyed. She may have assumed he wasn't looking, but he noticed that her eyes burned with a fire he'd seen in his own and her voice shook with unwavering courage and such powerful conviction that he almost gave in to her whims. But he wouldn't give her the satisfaction. He couldn't.

"Looking for someone?" a soft voice purred from the darkness in the hallway. He was about to enter another dark room when the voice jerked him upright from his hunched position in front of the keyhole.

"No. I'm sorry if I disturbed you," he replied quickly, turning to leave.

"Ne t'inquiet pas (Don't worry), mon ami," she assured him, appearing slowly. Her dark brown hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun, and her cheeks were colored by a rosy tint that only alcohol could bring out in such pale skin. "Your secret is safe with me." Before he could move, she had him pinned to the wall, her leg grazing the outside of his thigh as her slender fingers wound around his chin. Connor dared not move. "So nervous. I can help ease that a little." Her chilled palm slid down to his chest and he snatched it into his hand, feeling something hard graze the pads of his fingers.

He pushed her away, "You belong to another man. Take pride in your status as a wife," he told her.

She seemed to recall her senses for a moment as she sighed heavily. "Julien is so boring. I cannot stand it any longer; all he cares about are those stupid paintings. What about me, his wife?" she demanded, louder than he'd liked.

"Please, keep your voice down," he requested, looking up and down the halls for the guards. They were sure to hear her complaints once the laughter and conversation broke into silence for a moment.

"Why should I? This is my home. Some Breed isn't going to tell me what to do," she spat with venom in her every word. The seductive, lacy tone she had used was gone. "You'd better leave before I call the guards."

He hurried down the hall in silence, back towards the party and let out a heavy breath once he was out in the light. They had formed a dance floor for the couples, who were hand in hand, twirling and dipping to the fast tempo of the fiddles and flutes.

Connor turned from the dancers until he heard a light-hearted, almost childish laugh echo through the air. His eyes immediately fell on Aveline, who was being spun and held by some brutish-looking man with a wicked smile. They seemed to be enjoying themselves, and if his eyes weren't failing him, other potential suitors were in the crowd, nodding towards her and pointing, perhaps waiting for their chance to dance with the exotic woman.

Did she not know the proper guidelines to the courtship arrangement? If they were to be married, _he_ was to be her dance partner. The way she smiled up at him and blushed when he spoke made something fester in his chest. It was a strange sensation, to feel a hole boring into his stomach while his muscles began to coil, like a wolf ready to pounce on its unsuspecting prey.

He needed to relax and keep his emotions under control, as Achilles had reminded him just before they left. Aveline was not his to claim.

"Boisson, monsieur?" the manservant asked again with a tall glass of white wine on a platter.

"Gladly," he mumbled, drinking all its contents, his gaze never leaving the colored woman in the fiery red dress. Her head was tilted back in unbounded laughter, and her dance partner gazed upon her graceful pillar of a neck as if it were a rare delicacy. Whether it was the alcohol getting to him or his nerves were becoming undone, he felt the need to loosen his necktie and stuff it into his pocket.

Removing the cravate seemed to alleviate the heat he was feeling at the moment, but he still felt like something was wrong—like someone was watching him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the woman from earlier standing close to the shadows, her eyes boring holes into his face. He made the mistake of giving her his full gaze, and her hand moved towards her mouth; he turned before she could finish the gesture and snatched up another glass of wine.

Relief washed over him once the music ended, and Aveline and her partner broke away from each other. However, the European gent seemed to have taken a fancy to her, and decided to trail her to the counter where small plates of food were being served from the adjoining kitchen.

She would not get swept away to dance by another stranger. He calmly headed towards her navigating through the dense crowds with as many 'excuse mes' and 'pardons' as possible. When he managed to get wedged into the side of the bar, he felt a hand graze his inner thigh before grasping his backside. Connor immediately turned; Julien's wife had appeared behind him with a lustful plea in her eyes.

"I'll make up for earlier if you follow me upstairs," she whispered among the loud voices echoing in the ball room.

"I must decline; I'm attending this event with my betrothed," he replied firmly. She remained unfazed.

"Our encounter does not have to be made known to her," she purred with a sly grin. "All I ask is a little time with a dark, handsome stranger."

"My wife-to-be is a friend of your husband's. I think they'd both be highly upset if we decide to agree to this tryst." Before she could say anything else, he forcefully made his way to Aveline, almost shoving people out of the way. As the night wore on, the smells emanating from the guests, the food and the air seemed to be encroaching upon his countenance. Even his clothes were beginning to make his skin itch. The female Assassin's dance partner was awfully close to her, but her eyes weren't glistening with interest any longer. She seemed to be quite bored and annoyed with the man—a perfect opportunity for him to save her. The other suitors attending seemed to be making their way to the sun-kissed woman as if she were a well in a vast wilderness, perhaps because she was the only colored woman with money attending.

When he was just an arm's length away from her, their eyes locked, and she seemed relieved as she quickly excused herself and nearly tackled him to the floor. She failed to see her dance partner's face drop in all of the blink of an eye. "Where have you been?" she asked, her eyes searching his face.

"Searching for Smith."

"Any success?"

"No." Aveline nodded in understanding, and she looked as if she were going to walk off again, but he caught her by the hook of her elbow. She tensed at the contact, staring dumbly at his hand around her arm, then up at him. The fiddle began to play again, followed by the flutes in a slow, melancholy ensemble. "As you once said, we must make our...relationship believable. I may have garnered the attention of a few pairs of eyes."

She smiled warmly before intertwining her arm with his as he led her to the floor. "Surely, you don't mean Templars; they haven't moved." Connor remembered to place his palm on her waist and the other over her hand.

"No." They took two steps forward; he managed to keep his feet away from her toes. So far so good.

"Then who?" she asked, scanning the crowds. A few without discretion took to pointing at them and shaking their heads. One woman in particular, however, seemed to be following their every move. "Véronique?"

"The woman is lonely," he mumbled. Aveline burst out laughing, drawing the attention of a few. With her head tilted back, he could see why the man was so fixated by her neck. It was graceful, lean, longer than any neck he'd seen on a woman. "You find something humorous about this?"

"Julien loves his paintings more than his wife; I only feel sorry for her—and for you, because she wants you."

"Apparently, any dark, handsome stranger will suit her needs. I'm the only one here."

"Then you're fortunate that I'm here to save you," she replied with a wink. They both fell silent, seemingly allowing the music to sway them back and forth. Aveline focused her dark eyes on his face. "You look really handsome tonight, Connor. A real gentleman."

The Native tried to control the rush of blood to his face; he was looking at her a thousandth time for the first time. The crimson red dress accented her honey brown skin tone perfectly. The satin lace was made of gold thread and formed a diamond pattern on the front of her bodice. A simple, round pendant with an interesting design hung from her stately neck, and her perfume was a delight to his keen sense of smell. It consisted of wood and lavender oil, a light, welcoming scent. With her hair neatly pinned into a large bun, he could see her face clearly: a pug round nose, high cheek bones, and curvy lips that seemed to be ready to smirk at any time.

"The dress is...becoming on you." If he didn't know any better, she was starting to turn red under his gaze, and she took to lowering her head, watching their feet.

"You're doing very well, Connor. Just one dance lesson did the trick. You learn quickly."

"I had a good teacher." She looked up, peering deep into his eyes, almost halting altogether in her movements. A small smile crept across his lips and she found herself staring at them once again.

"...picked up quite a few from New Orleans, that little melting pot in the South," someone voiced behind them. Aveline immediately broke from her trance just as Connor decided to move away from the person.

"Connor, we have to stay here," she whispered, leaning forward until her forehead touched his chin. He was very warm, feverish even.

"Why?" he asked.

"That man may have information concerning my mother." Connor remained silent as they stayed in place, mildly swaying right and left as the man continued his conversation.

"I'll never let my wife hear of this, but the Southern women are far more colorful than these fair lilies of the North."

"They most certainly are, but I'd never touch a savage, let alone have children with one." The two men chuckled briefly. "However, I had some trouble with a fiery African woman from Saint Domingue, that colony in Haiti."

"Oh? Please do tell, Albert." Aveline had heard that name before; she turned towards them, straining her ear to listen.

"She was quite head strong—it took two men to hold her down. It appears she was educated as well; she spoke French, mostly curse words, but—"

"So what did you do to her? Did you have to exert force?"

"One of my men hit her after I ordered them not to." Connor felt Aveline's muscles tense, and her breathing deepened; if she wasn't careful, she'd murder the man right where he stood.

"Aveline," Connor said softly, trying to distract her from her murderous line of thought. She didn't budge, but rather, took to digging her fingernails into his forearm. He fought to ignore the pain as he gripped her side slightly harder, drawing her attention to him. "Stay calm. There are Templars everywhere in this room."

"Chut! (Quiet!) I won't do anything stupid. He's an idiot for letting my mother get hurt."

"You heard him—his man hit her after he told him not to. There was nothing he could do."

"He shouldn't have taken my mother in the first place; this is all his fault," she replied bitterly. "I will get that slave registry from him one way or another." Before Connor could reply, she had ripped herself from his grasp and started to make her way towards the man named Albert with an exaggerated sway in her hips. He looked on with hidden interest, moving back towards the crowds as she approached the slaver.

"Bon soir (Good evening), monsieurs," she curtsied with a beaming smile. They both looked her up and down, and the one named Albert spoke first.

"Good evening. You must be Philippe's daughter, Aveline. My, you've grown up to be a fine young woman," he complimented, unabashedly staring at the small amount of cleavage she had before flickering his eyes to her face.

"Merci, Monsieur..." she extended her hand.

"Mansley. Albert Mansley." He took her hand and kissed it. She tried her best not to wince when his dry lips stuck to her skin for a moment. His deep green eyes unsettled her; there was something dark lingering behind them. It was the sensation of being touched without actual contact, as if his hands were sliding down her arms, touching the bare skin of her neck. He was easily twice her age, but eyed her as if they couldn't be father and daughter. "Out of all these young, handsome suitors here, you decide to converse with me, an old man."

"I'd rather not deal with the silly antics of the younger men; I prefer someone who's experienced and wise such as yourself," she purred, much like Véronique. Her lips held a smolder Connor didn't fail to notice; he was impressed with her acting skills. She wrapped her arm around his and started to guide him to the bowels of the house, towards the garden. The Native casually slipped away from the counter and pursued, only to be blocked once again by Julien's wife.

"How often do you visit Louisianne?" Aveline asked, walking alongside him at a slow pace.

"Oh, every now and then. Some of my business dealings require me to visit New Orleans. It's become quite a busy place; it has potential for great revenue with the growing businesses in the area, including your father's."

"Yes, he's made quite a name for himself in New Orleans, but unfortunately, our bustling city is marred by slavery." His footsteps ceased for a moment, apparently caught off guard. He seemed to feel uncomfortable about the sudden change in their conversation.

"Yes, it is...unfortunate," he agreed hesitantly. "Surely, you don't have family who are slaves?"

"I do. My mother disappeared when I was a child. She was from Saint Domingue," she replied as calmly as possible. They weren't completely isolated yet; once they were behind the house under the cover of darkness, she would strike.

"I am sorry to hear this. Your father must miss her dearly, I'm sure. As do you."

"We do; we talk about her sometimes. I know she's nearby; I can't feel it." They were taking their time down the stairs; she could feel the leather straps of her hidden blade tighten against her skin as her muscles coiled.

"Perhaps you are right; one day, she may be freed and you will be reunited," he assured her.

"I hope that it is one day soon, Monsieur Mansley." Once they set foot in the grass, she shoved him hard against the wall, his yelp of surprise uncertain and terrified. "Give me your slave registry, maintenant (now)," she growled. The look of fear quickly faded, and was replaced with distaste and annoyance.

His lip curled as he spoke, "You taint a little European blood, and the monster that's the result of such lunacy demands what doesn't belong to it." Aveline's jaw clenched as she removed her hidden blade and placed it against the skin of his throat. He seemed unfazed, his eyes placid as ever.

"Give it to me and you will walk away with your life," she hissed.

He smirked, becoming a bit irate in his stance. "This is about your mother isn't it? That African woman called herself Jeanne; I thought her to be as dumb and dull as the rest of them. But she must have some intelligence if Philippe had enough sense to lay with her." The female Assassin felt her entire body trembling with rage as she glowered at him. He continued, "Unfortunately, your father must have had a fetish for wild animals; the noises she made when I—" His sentence was cut short as she drove her blade into his throat until all that could be seen was her hand.

Aveline pulled the blade out slowly, staring defiantly into his eyes until he slid to the ground, holding the gaping hole in his throat. Crimson red blood poured over his hand and down his shirt as he struggled to breathe. His last gasp of air left him, and his hand fell to the grass.

She stood there with her head down, watching as his body stilled and life departed from him.

Soft, quick footsteps echoed against the cobblestone behind her and stopped suddenly. The female Assassin didn't have to turn around; she knew exactly who it was.

"What have you done?"

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**First of all, so sorry for the late update! Life as usual delayed my progress on this story, but I've managed to crop this chapter up. I hope it's not too cruddy and cheesy with the dancing and stuff. And the stuff at the end, did it sound like something you'd kill someone over? Aveline is really upset about her mother being enslaved.**

**I know this isn't what happens in Liberations or ACIII, but I decided to take this route to make the plot I have for the story work. Julien, Veronique, Adam Smith and Albert Mansley are all fictional, non-canon people.**

**I'm sorry I don't have more to say; it's late here, and my brain is fried from stress. Peace and love to you all.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Yet another chapter for those devoted Connorline fans out there!**

**Note: I have a Tumblr blog, askconnorthehoundlover, if anyone is interested in extra fluff tidbits that I've added about Connor and Aveline's relationship. And there's a group for Connerline fans on Deviantart called Connerline FC or just Connerline. The founder would appreciate the support of all you Connorlineys out there! (Ignore the silly groupie name. Connerlineys, ha.)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own UbiSoft, in part or whole, including its characters, so please do not sue.**

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**Signs of a Dissonance**

Aveline refused to turn and look him; she ignored the condemnatory tone in his voice. He walked towards her in a hurry and seized her roughly by her shoulders.

"Aveline, are you hard of hearing?" Connor demanded, his russet eyes boring holes into hers. She tried to rip out of his grasp, but his fingers were tightly secure around her slender arms.

"Non," she replied, her lips thin in defiance.

He drew in a heavy breath, clenching his jaw in contemplation. "Achilles gave us specific instruction _not_ to harm anyone, let alone kill them. You have deliberately disobeyed his order."

"And? I see no ill consequence of this fool's death. Now leave me be," she muttered. Her eyes had darkened significantly, and the sparkle they once held was now a burning fire.

"The Order is not a tool to exact revenge, which is exactly what you have done tonight," he reprimanded her.

"I have not!" she hissed. "You know nothing about the conversation we had. You know _absolumment_ _nothing _about the details of our relationship!"

"I do not need to know everything to be aware of a person's intentions. The moment you informed me that you were looking for your mother, I should have made you stay at the Homestead."

"And how would you do that? Tie me down to a bed? Trust me, I would have found a way to be here in some form or fashion."

Connor balled his fists tight. "Woman, you are more stubborn than I realized. You intentionally came here knowing you would kill this man, regardless of the instruction from an Assassin of higher rank," he growled.

"If you came out here to play judge with me, then we have nothing more to discuss; I have the slave registry I needed, so now we can leave. D'accord (okay)?"

He finally let her go. "Very well. But do not think Achilles will not hear of this from me."

The light in her eyes dimmed slightly and she turned away, gripping her right arm in her hand. "Fine. I will endure my punishment, whatever that may be," she replied quietly.

Silence filled the air until Connor started to head towards the main gates, breezing past her noiselessly. "We should leave quickly if we are to avoid another needless confrontation." Aveline followed shortly thereafter, just in time for Mr. Faulkner to pull up with the carriage.

"How was the party?" he asked the couple, smiling at Aveline. She returned the smile immediately, saying, "Everything was lovely."

Connor piled in behind her and closed the door firmly behind him, taking his place next to Aveline. Her back was nearly completely turned to him; he simply ignored her the entire carriage ride home, trying to get rid of the harsh aftertaste of the wine on his tongue.

"I was twelve when she disappeared," she spoke softly. "We were taking a walk in the city when I lost her. If it weren't for my Mentor, I'd be lifting crates and sweeping dirt floors right now." Connor turned towards her, watching as she released her dark hair from its bun. It fell in loose curls to the middle of her back. She sighed, twirling her thumbs around each other. "If I had known, if I knew she was going to leave me..."

He remained silent, uncertain of what to say. Would he have preferred his mother alive, yet missing, or would he rather be haunted by her death that occurred right before his young, helpless eyes?

"We're here," Mr. Faulkner informed them, the carriage wheels coming to an abrupt halt. Connor opened the door and let himself out, then extended his hand to his partner. She ignored it and stepped down into the soft dirt, looking up at the older man on the carriage.

"Merci, Monsieur Faulkner. Bonne nuit," she bade him.

"Good night to you too, Missus Aveline. The pleasure was all mine. Connor," he bowed his head slightly, cracked the whips, and hobbled down the road until he was no longer in sight.

As if on cue, Achilles opened the door, letting out yellowish light and warmth from the inside. "You two come inside; it's getting cold." Refusing to look at one another, they headed inside and stood in the foyer. "I trust all is well? No one was hurt or killed?" The older man's tone was already beginning to sound like he was gearing up for a lecture.

Connor felt Aveline's eyes on him, and then he replied, "All is well. But I suspect that the traitor was never there to begin with." He looked at the woman, whose eyes were wide in shock and surprise, and then headed for Achilles' study with the old man in tow.

"What makes you think that?" Achilles asked.

"I would have found him if he were there. The only way he could have known I would be there—"

"He didn't," Aveline's voice interrupted their conversation; the two men turned to face her standing in the doorway. "He was merely aware that an Assassin would be there looking for him. Of course, someone had to have told him."

"Do you know who the person is?" Achilles asked.

"C'est possible that The Company Man has contacts here in the colonies, as well as in the Caribbean. "

"The Company Man?" Connor echoed.

"The Grand Master of the Templars in Louisiana. I have never seen him, but he is very powerful. If you'll excuse me, I'll look over the document I retrieved before I retire for the night. Once again, merci beaucoup, Achilles, for allowing me to rest here." She bowed slightly, gave Connor a quick glance, then quietly headed up the stairs to her room.

Once she was out of hearing range, Achilles turned to Connor, "Just a few hours ago, you were eager to be at her side. Something change your mind, Connor?" he asked.

"As I said once before, I am not love struck. I do not have the time to invest into a woman's needs."

The older man seemed to weigh his words in his mind before he nodded and turned to his own room to retire for the night. "Very well. Perhaps I misjudged you—this time." He closed the door firmly behind him, leaving Connor alone with his thoughts.

The champagne was beginning to make his head feel light and his limbs heavy, so he followed suit and dragged his tired feet up the stairs, the wooden boards groaning under his weight. Once he reached the top of the stairs, "Connor, may I talk to you for a moment?" Aveline asked softly. Sighing, he gathered what patience he had left and opened her already ajar door all the way.

She was standing in the middle of the floor with a sheet of paper in her hand, her brows knitted in deep concentration. "My mother's name is definitely on this document, but it appears they've taken the slaves further west— to some sort of labor camp."

"What would you have me do?" he asked with an edgy tone. He had a feeling she was going to ask for a favor.

Aveline turned to face him, her facial expression softening. The male Assassin almost rolled his eyes; he knew some of the whims that the softer sex used. "I'll need your help. There may be a small army of Templars there; I don't want to be overwhelmed."

He studied her face, and thought deeply for a moment. Chances were, she was going to this labor camp whether Achilles approved or not, and once he gave his word, it was as good as done. "I cannot. The Order must not be used to achieve personal goals." He looked away just as her face dropped. If he didn't look at her, then he might be able to get out of the room without—

He felt her hands on his bare forearms; they were intensely hot. "Connor..." she drew out his name. He groaned inwardly and turned to face her. He had never noticed that her eyes were, in fact, brown with hints of green in them. "I need your help."

"I..." Connor drew out, watching as her eyes widened, and then he sighed. "Will think about it."

She beamed almost immediately and let him go. "Merci beaucoup, mon ami (Thanks a lot, my friend)!"

"I don't understand French," he revealed.

"Oh! I'm sorry. When I get excited or nervous, I start speaking my mother tongue. Perhaps one day, you may learn some and I may learn whatever language it is that you speak."

Connor was surprised by her statement, but he was still unsettled about her behavior at the party. He had deliberately lied to his mentor and now he was promising to help her on a personal quest for vengeance, with or without Achilles' approval. "Perhaps," he replied quietly, turning to leave. "If that'll be all—"

"No...Thank you, Connor. For...not telling Achilles what happened."

"Think nothing of it, for I will not do it again," he replied bluntly. At that, he stepped out of her room and closed the door behind him.

* * *

The following morning, Connor roused from sleep to the low hum of voices in conversation. Drawing in a heavy breath, he got up immediately and changed his clothes. As he proceeded down the stairs shortly after, he strained his ear to listen to the two voices.

"...understand that you're looking for your mother, but now is not the time for vengeance. The Templar order is growing in the colonies. We can't allow that to happen," Achilles said.

"...holder was a well-known Templar in Louisianne. I'm sure Mansley had connections to Adam Smith; if I can find my mother, then she may know where Smith is," Aveline replied. Connor could hear the desperation in her voice.

There was silence as Achilles thought about it. "I am truly sorry, but I cannot allow you to go. It's too risky for you to go alone."

"That was my next request...I was hoping Connor would accompany me." For some reason, the Native felt his chest tighten when she mentioned his name in such a tone; it was light, hesitant, as if she knew he was eavesdropping on their conversation.

"I don't want to risk his life either; until you have more information about this matter, I will not permit you to go. However, I am not your father; you may choose to do as you wish, but I strongly advise that you do not go."

"...I see. Merci, Achilles, for your suggestion. I will be outside if you need me for anything." The front door opened, and then closed firmly. Connor stepped down the stairs and made his way to the kitchen for something to eat. The old man hobbled in soon after.

"Good morning."

"Morning, Achilles," he replied, picking up a red apple and biting down into it. "I trust you slept well?"

"I did. Aveline seems to be adamant about finding her mother; I fear she may not listen to my advice."

"You once said that her mentor made light of her impulsiveness; perhaps it is best that she not be permitted to leave."

"And I said such. She doesn't seem to be too bothered by it, but women are very good at hiding their true emotions. Remember that."

"If that is the case, then why has she run off? I heard the door open and close."

"Not to worry; I'm sure she's just stretching her legs, though I'm not sure if she's up for company."

"I would rather leave her to her musings, if what you say is true." Once Connor finished his apple, he tossed it into the furnace and headed for the front door. The mid-morning sun was creeping through the evergreens, its rays soft and yellow in the blue sky. He could hear the settlers about the Homestead getting ready for another day of activity.

Off in the distance, he could hear rapid pounding hoof beats in the soft dirt, and growing louder with each passing second until the horse and its rider came into view.

It was Aveline, slowing her steed to a trot until it came to a dead halt in front of the manor.

"What are you doing?" he asked. She jumped off the saddle and made her way inside. Her face was fixed in solid determination; he didn't like it one bit. He followed her up the stairs and stood outside her room, watching as she began to put her equipment on in silence. "Aveline, Achilles requested that you not go. It is wise to listen."

"And miss the opportunity to free my mother and return home? I think not." She placed her hat on her head as the finishing touch, and brushed past him, taking the stairs two at a time with Connor in tow. "This can be done and over with by tonight." The female Assassin pulled herself up into the saddle and peered down at him. "I trust you came to a sound decision in helping me?"

He looked away for a moment, wishing he had just told her "No". What was getting into him? "I understand why you feel you must go, but know that once we leave the Homestead, we are on our own." Connor put two of his fingers in his mouth and blew a whistle long and hard. Moments later, a black and grey palamino trotted up the hill and he climbed on. "We must return tonight, unless you want to hear the old man complain."

Aveline gave him a warm smile; he didn't return it. "I see nothing humorous about this situation. I have lied to Achilles for you, and now I am deliberately going behind his back to assist you in a mission that may cost us our lives."

"You can choose to stay if you'd like," she snapped, her smile now an irritated frown. "I'll go seulement (alone)."

Connor grit his teeth, breathing hard and heavy. Women were complex creatures, indeed. "I would not hear the end of it if you traveled alone and something happened to you," he said just above a whisper. His voice had softened immensely, and the grimace on her face melted away.

"Very well. The longer we wait, the more time it takes to return." Aveline watched as he hopped into his saddle, and then they were trotting down the road at a steady pace. "The labor camp is somewhere out in the woods, about five thousand paces northwest of Boston."

"Then we must head directly west and we are sure to come upon it before evening," he informed her. She nodded her head, refusing to glance in his direction. He ignored her sudden aloof behavior and welcomed the silence. Pointless conversation had never intrigued him.

After riding for nearly four hours, the densely wooded terrain opened up into a vast canyon shrouded in evergreen trees surrounding the ice-capped mountain tops that seemed to stretch on forever into the sky. He heard Aveline say something in French as she looked at the scenery around her; Louisiana must not have been as enthralling as the colonial wilderness.

"We should stop to rest for a moment," he told her, steering his horse to a small clearing enclosed by a few small boulders. She silently followed and tied her reigns to a slender tree after she slid off the saddle. "I will return shortly." And with that, he disappeared into the dense bushes, removing his bow and arrow.

Not too far from where they settled, he spotted a hefty buck grazing a short distance away. He would make a fine midday meal. Connor lifted his bow, steadied his arrow, pulled the string back, and released. It sailed noiselessly through the air and pierced the stag clean through the neck. It brayed in surprise and pain as it stumbled to the grass, struggling to regain its balance. The hunter approached it silently, removing his knife as he bent over it.

"Nia:wen (Thank you)," he told the beast before he plunged his blade deep into its chest, and it immediately stilled. He quickly removed the arrow and replaced it in its holder and stood up to drag the deer back to the rest area.

Aveline was resting her back against a rock when he emerged from the forest with the fallen animal. "That was quick."

"I will skin the animal; you may prepare the fire." He removed his knife once again and went to work, severing the limbs first, and then the head. The female Assassin watched in amazement for a moment, then got to her feet to gather fallen branches for a fire.

They downed the cooked flesh quickly, and while Connor took to looking up at the sky, Aveline laid down flat in the grass with her arms folded behind her head, sleeping quietly for close to half an hour before he tapped her with his foot. The sun was beginning to make its way west.

"We have to go."

She opened her eyes and sat up, replacing her hat on her head. "That was a lovely nap." The pair mounted their horses once again, and rode for another several hours before finally coming upon what looked like a fortress. From the high hill they emerged on, they could see everything clearly. It was perfectly square, its high walls made of shaved logs to keep enemies out. There were about two dozen men dressed in ordinary clothes with guns standing around inside the camp, with four men on each corner of the walls and a building made of brick towards the back.

"This is not right," he told her, getting down off his horse.

She followed suit, "Non?"

"There should be Red Coats here, not ordinary men. Mansley is tied to the Templars is he not?"

"According to my prior knowledge, yes. Perhaps they're just not in uniform today."

"I do not find this little excursion the least bit funny. Your mother had better be here," he warned her, pointing his finger at her.

Aveline's jaw clenched. "It would much appreciated if you did not lecture me as if I'm a child."

"Your actions alone are proof that you must be treated as such. Our being here is because of an inkling you chose to act upon."

She stood directly in front of him, her face inches away from his. "Your choice to come or stay was yours alone. You came on your own volition. I could have come by myself and handled this on my own. She's not your mother, so I do not expect you to care." Her chest heaved in frustration as they glared at one another; neither refused to look away. "So why are you here?"

Connor found himself speechless; why was he there? Why wasn't he back at the Homestead, minding his business?

_Because you like her._

_Because you do not wish to see her hurt._

No, he thought. That couldn't be. Having feelings that strong so soon—it didn't make sense. He returned to the moment at hand, and she shook her head, as if disappointed?-she turned too quickly for him to fully study her face.

"I believe the slaves are being held inside that building, if the paper is accurate." He studied the movements of the guards and realized that one of them was far too tanned to be a European. Even his clothes were not similar to the Europeans'.

"That man with the bow and arrow—he is an Algonkian."

"A member of another Native people?"

"Yes. They have been our enemies for some time."

"Good. Perhaps you can distract the guards, lead them outside of the fortress while I get inside undetected."

"And how will you do that?" he asked.

"You must create a diversion that will get their attention. Once they're outside, I'll climb the wall."

"That is not a sound idea. The Algonkian are skilled observers; he will see you before you set foot in the dirt."

"Then what do you suggest?"

"Simply round the fortress and enter the building from the back. Dispose of the guards back there if necessary."

Aveline nodded her head in agreement. "Bon(Good.). Let's go." They moved silently through the trees until they emerged behind the fortress; there were a few branches hanging over into the yard heavy enough to support their weight. The female Assassin climbed the tree first and walked across the branch and dropped, soon followed by the male Assassin. There wasn't a guard in sight. The rear wall of the building had a few missing bricks—just enough to allow them to climb to the open window near the very top.

"I will stay here," he told her. "The both of us do not need to get inside."

She glanced at him, then began climbing, feeling the muscles in her arms coiling and releasing with each bound she took up the wall. It had been so long since she was able to do such a thing. The window was close enough for her to grab its sill and pull herself inside. The interior of the building was hollow, the upper level mostly support beams while the lower levels held small cells, from what she could see.

Her heart began to race at the thought that her mother was closer than ever in almost twenty years. She descended the beams with ease and landed on the wooden floor, peering into the cells. They were all empty with the exception of one. Five African men in shackles, apparently slaves, were sitting quietly, forced to let life pass them by until one noticed her standing there.

"Have you come to free us?" he asked in clear English. Her eyes were trained on the others who were getting to their feet. No sign of her mother, let alone an African woman.

"Is there a woman with you? She speaks French," she asked hurriedly.

"No. This labor camp doesn't take women; these mercenaries only buy male prisoners of war."

"Mercenaries?" she echoed. They were supposed to be Templars—

"What do we have 'ere?" a cunning voice asked from behind. Aveline turned quickly, facing a tall, burly European with a scraggly beard. "A pretty little slave woman, come to free her kin, eh? That's nice and all, but you won't be leaving 'ere alive...Assassin."

"How do you know who I am?" she demanded, removing her machete. The mercenary removed his sword, grinning, "Let's just say a friend of mine is gettin' awfully tired of you getting into his business. He made sure to have your mum taken somewhere else where you can't find 'er."

"You _will_ tell me where she is!" she shouted, lunging at him.

He quickly lifted his sword and deflected her attack. "We'll see about that, sweet'eart."

* * *

Connor had been waiting for nearly half an hour when he started to hear men shouting and yelling at one another. Cautiously, he strafed the building and peeked into the yard. The guards were surrounding a group of African men, possibly slaves, with swords. This must have been Aveline's doing.

The two groups of men began fighting, and the male Assassin quietly stalked low to the ground towards the unsuspecting guards. Once close enough, he unsheathed his hidden blades and drove them into the backs of the two closest Templars. They fell to the ground, and two more took their place, one with a bayonet and the other with a long sword. Connor removed his tomahawk and deflected the pointy tip of the bayonet before he rammed his elbow into the man's nose and shoved his hidden blade into his stomach, removing it quickly to dispatch the other.

"Connor!" a feminine voice cried out. He turned to Aveline, whose clothes were covered in blood, more and likely someone else's. The Native moved towards her, keeping his front facing the flurry of men quarreling inside the fortress' walls.

"This is not a Templar base," he informed her. "These are mercenaries."

"It was a trap!" she shouted over the noise of clashing swords and shouting. "We have to get back to the Homestead and regroup!" Connor kept silent, watching as the five African men held their own against the remaining mercenaries.

Once they were all detained, the slaves lowered their weapons and turned to the Assassins. "You, red bone," the leader directed at Connor. "The other one disappeared soon after we escaped. The white men didn't trust him; he was always quiet, never said anything to anyone, but his eyes—they were not human."

"He and I are not of the same tribe. He is an Algonkian."

The leader of the slaves didn't seem to care; in his mind, all the Natives were the same. "Very well, then. Thank you, jeune fille (young woman), for freeing us."

"You're welcome," she replied. "Where will you go?"

"We will return to the Bayou, to the free settlements."

"I suggest that you seek out a man named Gerald Blanc; he will guide you to a woman who will help you. Her name is Madeleine De L'Isle." He nodded, and they slowly made their way out of the fortress.

Once they were completely gone, Connor turned to Aveline, "We should leave as soon as possible," he told her.

She was staring hard at the ground for a moment, then looked towards the setting sun with a faraway look in her eyes. "Yes." He took the lead, heading towards the hill where their horses stood waiting. She remained quite a distance behind, perhaps musing over what just occurred.

After a few moments of silence, his keen sense of hearing picked up the distinct creaking of wood being bent against its will.

Aveline gave out a sharp gasp of surprise and Connor immediately turned to face her—

And watched as she slowly fell to the dirt.

* * *

Uh-oh. Um...no comment.

Sorry it took me so long to update; busy as a bee these days! Was the wait worth the cliffhanger at the end?

Also, yes, this is a "love at first sight" story; Connor is just fighting his feelings. As revealed in the interview with Noah Watts, Corey May said that Connor has never had a romantic relationship. Ever. So he thinks loving someone who he's not related to is a disease; even liking someone is foreign to him until he meets Aveline. He'll come to terms with his emotions eventually.

We shall find out what happens to Aveline soon, as well as who attacked her.

Sorry I don't have much to say; go ahead and beat me over the head for making such a poorly orchestrated chapter.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Okay, Connerline lovers out there! Let's see what happens to Aveline!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Ubisoft, so please do not sue.**

**Also: Part of this chapter will be told from Connor's point of view because...you'll see why. And...there's fluff! Finally! This chapter will probably be 5 to 6,000 words long, depending on where I feel there's a good stopping point.**

* * *

**Panacea**

Aveline fell to the ground harder than I had anticipated; the arrow hit with so much force on her lithe form.

I saw the assailant; he was perched in a tree, wearing animal skins and red war paint. The other Native from the mercenary camp. The Algonquian. The moment I took my eyes off of him to tend to her, and then looked to where he once hid, he was gone. I knew better than to think he had run off back to his home territory.

That arrow was meant for me.

"Aveline," I glanced at the arrow; it was short and thick, but it was lodged deep into her body. She did not respond to my voice. Her hat lay in the dirt close by, covered in dust from her abrupt fall. Her wound was beginning to bleed; I would have to get her to safety quickly before she slipped too far away in sleep.

She whimpered softly, and I felt something inside me leap. But she had not yet opened her eyes; I couldn't waste any more time waiting for her to awaken, so I gathered her in my arms and hurried towards the horses. If she lived to inquire about her hat, I would have to tell her that it had to be left behind.

I saddled her first, careful not to cause the arrow to bury deeper into her side, and got on behind her, snapping the reigns and galloping down the dirt road. After riding for quite a while, I directed the horse into the dense cover of trees; the Algonquians were excellent trackers.

With darkness quickly setting in, a fire would attract attention, but Aveline's wound needed to be dressed. I set foot in the dirt and gently rested her body against a large boulder. She felt so light and delicate in my arms, as if she would break if I set her down too harshly. I quickly gathered fallen branches for a fire and waited until the embers started to grow to turn my attention towards other things.

I removed my blanket from my saddle and unrolled it, after which I moved her to its soft surface. Her breaths were shallow and quick; I had to move quickly.

"I'm sorry," I told her before putting my right hand on the plane of her stomach and gripping the arrow in my left. I pulled it out with ease; she groaned loudly in pain, digging her nails into the dirt underneath her palms.

"Connor," she gasped, her eyes barely open.

I focused my attention on her immediately. "Yes?" Her small gloved hand gripped mine weakly as she stared up at me.

"The other Native, h-he—"

"Do not worry about him for now. I must remove most of your clothes to treat the wound properly." I did not give her time to give her consent; she was bleeding profusely, more than any other arrow wound I had seen. Piece by piece, I removed her uniform, placing it near her head. Her flesh was marred by a black liquid present on the arrow; it was some kind of poison. We could not rest for long. She needed more help than I could offer without the proper remedies.

Using her scarf, I wiped the area clean of blood and started to tear her lighter-colored blouse to use as gauze. "That was a well-made shirt," she moaned softly.

"Then let us hope it will stop the bleeding until we return to the Homestead," I told her, placing it firmly over the hole in her abdomen before I began wrapping it around her waist. Her skin was unusually warm to the touch, perhaps an effect of the poison. "How are you feeling?"

"My head...it's starting to hurt...badly." She lifted her arm to massage her forehead, and I immediately noticed the red patch on her brown skin. "Where are we?"

"Not too far from the Homestead; you need more help than I can offer away from the manor." I wrapped the last of the gauze around her midsection and tucked in its end.

"I think I've been poisoned, but I don't know what it is. I can hardly...I can..." she sighed before her eyes closed and her arm fell to her side.

"Aveline," I shook her gently. There were beads of sweat on her face, and after touching her skin I discovered that it was hot and clammy. She had fainted; it was better for her to rest while I was away. I covered her with my other blanket, and got to my feet.

He had been watching us for quite some time; I knew he'd be waiting for me in the forest.

As I made my way across a small clearing, I knew he was on my trail. I stood waiting for him to appear. "Show yourself."

Moments later, he appeared, most of his face painted and his hair adorned with large feathers. "You already know that arrow was intended for you, but the African woman was just as good a target."

"Do you no longer associate with your people? Is that why you kill for money?" I asked, removing my hood.

"I stand apart from them. They prefer to cower and hide because of the presence of the white man. I see an opportunity in helping them kill each other in hopes of claiming whatever land their pasty hands land on."

"Someone knew that I would be at the mercenary camp; who was it?" I demanded.

He removed his hunting knife; it glistened in the moonlight. "I do not know; all the white men look the same to me, Mohawk. Now let our weapons do the talking."

I barely had enough time to remove my own knife to defend myself before he came in high, causing me stumble a moment before regaining my footing. We circled one another, waiting for the other to strike first. "If you tell me his name, I will spare your life," I warned him. There was no need to lose another one of us to this war, regardless of our tribal conflicts.

When he was close enough, I swept my foot underneath his and caused him to fall. Before I could get a hold of him, he rolled away and got to his feet, chuckling softly. "Clever boy." We began to circle one another again, this time, more slowly.

He remained silent as he lunged towards me; he was quick and strong. We fell to the grass, his knife dangerously close to my throat. Because of my size compared to his smaller, lithe one, he could not prevail against me.

"Before you die, Mohawk, what is your name?"

"I...will not...die tonight." With all my strength, I pushed him off of me, and got up as he landed hard on the ground. Before he could try anything, I grabbed him by the neck and dragged him to a tree, pinning him to it. "Who hired you to kill us?" I barked.

"I will not tell you anything, half Breed," he hissed, struggling against me. "Except my name. Askook." He extended his tongue and made a hissing noise; I reared my fist and struck his face, rendering him unconscious. Askook fell to the dirt, and I quickly tied his arms behind him and around the trunk of the tree so that he could not escape.

When I returned to Aveline, she was trembling all over and whimpering softly like a newborn pup. The poison was beginning to flow throughout her entire body, but I had seen such effects before—foxglove, they called it.

I removed my flask from my horse's saddle and knelt down beside her, pushing the skin to her lips as I held her head from the back. "Drink, Aveline." She barely parted her lips and swallowed what she could before she started coughing.

"Connor?" she asked, opening her eyes. "Is that you?"

"Yes."

She blinked several times before she reached out and touched my face. Her thumbs grazed my cheeks; I could feel my heart start to beat heavily in my chest. "I cannot see you clearly. Everything looks like cotton—fuzzy." Aveline tucked her arms into the blanket, her body still trembling.

"Do you need more covering?" I asked. The sun had disappeared a while ago; we had to start out early to arrive at the Homestead before midday.

"No," she replied, closing her eyes. I could tell she was trying to still her movements, but the poison was much too powerful. I started to make my own preparations for the night on the other side of the fire when she spoke again, "Please...sleep over here with me."

I paused in my movements, uncertain if I had heard correctly. "What?"

"It's cold. I need your body heat."

"Aveline—"

"Connor, a simple yes or no will suffice—Ah!" she groaned in sharp agony, holding her head in her hand. "I will not be upset with you if you say no. Je promets (I promise)."

I hesitated; she had both blankets and the wind was starting to gather strength. I got to my feet and stood next to her for a moment before I sat next to her on the pallet. She turned towards me, "If you're worried that I'll bite you in my sleep, you have nothing to worry about. You need rest." I stared at her a moment, and she opened the blanket.

A moment later, I was under the cover, facing her, and she smiled. "Bonne nuit, mon ami (Good night, my friend)."

* * *

The next morning, Connor awakened early, just minutes before dawn, when the sky was a mix of deep purple and orange. He merely laid on his side and briefly studied his partner's face. Even when she was relaxed, her features held a sense of tranquility he hadn't associated with any other woman he'd pay attention to in the past. Some were very fearful, perhaps assuming that he was a ravishing savage, others were hateful, wishing that he and his people would disappear indefinitely. But Aveline, her eyes always welcomed him, and even when he was upset with her, she searched for a glimmer of acceptance.

They were very much alike, he concluded, lying flat on his back as he studied the stars dwindling in the sky. Perhaps she was the only one of her kind in New Orleans, as he appeared to be the only one of his kind in the colonies. She was a full-grown, thoroughly trained Assassin, but that simple fact urged him to be all the more so careful and attentive, should they continue to cooperate and assist one another in future missions.

Aveline was still sound asleep, but they couldn't stay there much longer; if the Templars failed to receive response from the mercenary camp, more and likely, they'd send someone to investigate.

The Native carefully removed himself from the blanket and got to his feet, heading in the direction of the tree where he tied up the Algonquian, Askook. After walking for a short distance, he stopped, observing the other brown man for movement. He was absolutely still, even when he approached and tapped his knee with his booted foot.

"Wake up," Connor demanded. He tapped his shoulder; he was extremely stiff. With a little more force, he lifted the man's head and discovered that the front of his chest was covered in his own blood and his tongue was lying in the grass in front of him.

The Assassin backed away, gagging from the awful stench of rapid decay, and covered his nose as he cut the ropes and let the body fall to the dirt. "O:nen(Goodbye)," he said before walking away and returning to the camp. Aveline was coming out of her deep sleep as his boots crunched loudly in the hard dirt.

"Connor, where are we? Why can't I see well? Why am I on the ground?" she asked hurriedly, trying to sit up. Her breaths quickened, "Why am I so weak? What's happening to me?" she inquired much like a scared child.

"Aveline, calm down," he told her softly, kneeling close to her. "You have been poisoned; we have to get you to the manor as soon as possible or the symptoms will persist." She nodded and started to rise with his help, his left hand supporting her back as she got to her feet. Stumbling, she leaned into him to keep her balance and he helped her to the large boulder before he rolled up the blankets and replaced them on the saddle. He helped her into the stirrups and then got on behind her; her body slumped against his for warmth and trembled.

"I feel...so...cold," she whispered. Connor snapped the reigns and the horse took off at a swift pace, galloping up the dirt road.

"We will be there soon." The landscape slowly transitioned from grassy terrain to scattered but dense pockets of evergreen trees sprouting high into the sky, and Connor knew that he was close to home. Big Dave's smelting hut was quickly coming into view, as well as the other businesses surrounding the manor. When they slowed to a trot, coming upon the mansion, Achilles opened the door swiftly, preparing himself for giving the pair of hard-headed Assassins an earful.

The Native ignored his dark, piercing eyes and dismounted, gently tugging Aveline off the saddle and cradling her in his arms. "Connor, too many times have I tolerated your failure to listen—"

"You and I will have words later," he cut off his mentor abruptly, carrying her inside. "Aveline has been poisoned."

"What?" Achilles hissed. "You both deliberately ignore my words, and return with one fighting for their life?"

"Listen old man, I do not have time to listen to this!" he snapped. "Either you help me save her, or stand off to the side and complain and let her die!"

The older Assassin clenched his jaw and looked away. "Take her upstairs to her room; I will be up shortly." He hobbled away, disappearing into the kitchen. Connor hurried up the stairs and kicked open the door to her bedroom, setting her down on the soft blankets.

Her forehead was slick with sweat, and her chest heaved as if she were suffocating. The effects had not been that severe the night before; at least the trembling had calmed.

A few moments later, he could hear Achilles' walking stick tapping loudly on the wooden stairs and eventually down the hall to where he was sitting at her bedside. He had freshly torn cloths in his hand as well as a knife and a bottle of wine. "Here. I will tell you what to do," he said, handing the materials to Connor one at a time. "First, you have to close the wound properly; open the wine, drench one of the rags and clean the hole." The Native lifted her shirt and carefully removed the torn blouse from around her waist before doing as his mentor instructed and placed the wine-drenched rag over her injury.

Aveline winced in pain, trying to move the gauze, but Connor held it firmly in place. "Aveline, stay your hand," he told her softly, placing his free hand over hers. He wiped it clean and then started replacing the gauze around her waist; he tried not to notice how warm and soft her skin felt on his fingertips and was finished before he would even think to hesitate to indulge in the discovery. "What am I to do with the knife?"

"You will not enjoy doing this, but you must bleed her a little to break the flow of the poison," Achilles told him. Connor glanced at his instructor, indifference in his face, then to the knife, and lastly, to Aveline, whose breaths were now labored and slow. "She has foxglove in her blood. If it was a concentrated dose, she will begin to vomit and eat little, if anything at all." He took up the knife in his right hand and placed the cold metal on her forearm. "I am sorry," he muttered, and then made a thin, long line across her skin, causing her to moan softly in pain. He watched her dark red blood stain the pure white cloth beneath her arm for over a minute and then wiped it before wrapping another gauze around it.

"We will see if her body fights it over the course of the day. If she doesn't start vomiting or complaining about stomach pain, then she will be fine in a few days. However, because of where the arrow penetrated, she will be out of commission for a few weeks. Now that she has been handled, we must talk about this in private." Achilles headed out the door, and Connor followed, sighing under his breath as he closed the door.

"Because Aveline isn't in the best of health, I will not put all of this on you, although you're partly responsible for this. While you decided to tag along with her, despite my warning, did some good come out of this at least?" he asked.

"No. It was a trap laid by someone who knows that Aveline is from Louisiana looking for someone in the colonies and that I am looking for Adam Smith. The Company Man is working with a Templar contact who has eyes and ears everywhere we go."

"Then we are no closer to finding Smith than we were last night. We received many letter this morning concerning Assassin activity in the colonies; I will look them over throughout the day and give you your next assignment tomorrow. You are free to sit at her side." Connor hesitated, and the older man laughed. "I know you're eager to see her again. Mark my words boy, the next few weeks will test you both." He began to head back down the stairs.

"A test of what?" he asked.

"I asked my father the same thing before I married Abigail." At the mention of marriage, Connor felt his heart leap in his chest. What was the old man implying? He had a good idea of what he meant, but Achilles always spoke in puzzles and encrypted words.

The male Assassin opened the door to her room and stepped inside, noting that she was still trembling. He moved to help her get settled under the blankets and pulled them up to her chest, causing her to chuckle. "Am I your enfant (child) while I'm poisoned?"

"Someone needs to watch over you until your trembling stops. Are you feeling any pain?"

"Aside from my head, no." She opened her eyes, "I cannot see you well, but it's better than last night."

"Achilles said the poison should be out of your system in less than a day's time. But the arrow wound will take some time to fully heal. He has decided to restrict you from leaving the Homestead for several weeks."

Aveline didn't seem fazed by his words. "And what of you, Connor? Are you being punished?"

"No. He has an assignment for me."

"What? I-I must—" she attempted to sit up, her frail form shaking from the little effort required.

Connor placed his palms flat on her sides, coaxing her back to the bed. "Aveline, you are in no shape to fight Templars. You will die," he stated firmly.

Her lips fixed in a frown. "You will need my help; you can't go out there alone. What if they overwhelm you?" she asked, gasping for air.

He leaned in, brushing a few stray hairs out of her face. It seemed to calm her. "I have fared for a long time without your assistance, but I am not saying your strength is not appreciated. It would be unwise for you to put yourself in danger unnecessarily."

The male Assassin watched as she reached for his hand and squeezed it; he noticed that they were both colored, yet different from each other in shade, as well as in size. "I should apologize, Connor."

"For what?" he asked.

"For getting you in trouble with Achilles. I've been real impulsive lately..."

He chuckled, rubbing the back of her hand softly. "Achilles and I fight all the time; you have not disturbed the natural order of things." She smiled for a moment, then closed her eyes.

"It's only because...I haven't seen my mother since I was twelve...we got separated, a-and...I was almost sold as a slave."

"Your mentor saved you," he stated. "I understand your passion for finding the woman that birthed you. If my mother were missing and I knew she was alive, I would be doing the same."

"If you don't mind my asking, what happened to your mother?" she asked softly.

He tensed for a moment, then relaxed as he prepared to tell her. "She was burned alive when my village was attacked."

"And your father?"

"A Templar. The Grand Master. And also a traitor to the Assassins."

"I'm sorry, Connor...I shouldn't have asked."

He wiped the sweat threatening to fall into her eyes, sighing softly. "It is alright. Now, you must rest. You have been talking far too much."

Aveline smiled weakly. "Are you...going to leave me?" Her voice willed him to stay.

"No. I will stay and watch over you." Finally, she closed her eyes and her breathing slowed. Within minutes, she was in a deep sleep, and all that could be heard were the mundane activities of the Homestead outside her window and Achilles wandering around the manor.

The male Assassin propped his arm on the night stand and studied the patterns in the bed sheets as his eyes began to grow heavy. The air was warm, and with silence being something quite rare to him, he reacted as he naturally would and closed his eyes, allowing sleep to overcome him.

* * *

"Maman, non, prenze-moi avec toi(Mama, no, take me with you)," she whimpered, her lips trembling slightly. Connor stirred, confused at first by the voice and blinked a few times to clear his vision. He had fallen asleep on the edge of her bed. "Maman, ne partez pas moi(Mama, don't leave me)!" She began to cry in her sleep, and Connor began to call out her name, "Aveline." She shifted to and fro, sobbing loudly.

"Aveline!" he said with more force, holding her firmly by the shoulders. Finally, she opened her eyes, "Connor?" she gasped. "Where is my mother?"

"She is not here," he replied calmly. Realization slowly dawned on her face and she closed her eyes. Suddenly, she attempted to cover her mouth, but it was too late. She quickly leaned over the side of the bed and vomited, the contents of her stomach spilling loudly onto the wooden floor. Connor winced at the noise and got to his feet; Achilles had to be informed that the bleeding hadn't worked.

As he headed out the door, "Don't leave, Connor. I-I'm sorry..." she called out weakly.

"I will return shortly; Achilles must know that you are vomiting." He hurried downstairs to the study, where he found Achilles reading a book by the fireplace until he noticed his pupil standing there, his eyes sharp and intense and his stance shifting from foot to foot.

"Is something the matter, Connor?" he asked, worry in his tone.

"Aveline. The poison has taken her body. She just vomited," he informed the older man.

His mentor closed the book and got to his feet. "This is not good at all. Victoria!"

A middle-aged woman wearing a bonnet quickly appeared. "Yes, Achilles?"

"The girl upstairs made a mess; would you mind cleaning it up? But before you do that, start a pot of water on the fire."

"Right away." And with that, she was gone. Achilles stood by the window, exhaling loudly.

"What will become of her?" Connor asked, holding his hands in front of him.

"If it is just foxglove, she will continue to get rid of everything she eats and refuse any offer of food. Her wound will not heal quickly, and I fear she will grow considerably smaller in less than a week's time. If you want her to keep living, you must trust in her will to survive and nothing more. The poison must run its course."

* * *

Over the course of the day, Victoria had decided to leave a bucket in Aveline's room for all of her incidents and kept a bowl of cold water and a rag next to her bedside. Dr. White had been away from the colonies for several weeks, reportedly in Philadelphia tending to a close member of his family, and his aid would have been greatly appreciated.

Connor frequently visited Aveline, sitting for half an hour at a time, then getting to his feet to stretch and step outside for a moment, and then return to her room to open the window; the air quickly grew stale and humid. He listened as she muttered incoherently in her sleep, sometimes to the verge of tears or short bursts of anger.

Achilles visited her every few hours, standing over her sleeping form with a hardened glare on his face. Connor remembered that his mentor's wife and son had been taken by small pox, perhaps they had passed in the manor in the same fashion.

Several days passed, and Aveline seemed to be shrinking with each day. Her once full, womanly form was now swallowed whole by the blankets and her weight loss was even more apparent when Connor helped reposition her on the bed and his fingers rubbed against the bones of her spine. He had attempted to give her small bits of warm bread with butter, and she violently refused. Even speaking to her was difficult when she refused to reply. He tried his best not to get frustrated with her; it was the illness causing her to be irrational and sometimes hostile towards him. At night, he gathered her withered hand in his and said something reminiscent of a prayer in his language.

His mentor had not yet given him his new assignment, and hadn't even mentioned anything about the letters they had received from their informants. He could not stay at her side forever; his assignment would have to take priority over her declining health.

And nearly two weeks later, Achilles finally came to Connor as he cleaned his blades in his room with his next mission. "I know you would prefer to stay with Aveline until she has shown some sign of recovery, but your next assignment requires your immediate attention."

"What of the assignment you were to give me several weeks ago?" he asked.

"It was a small delivery, nothing pressing," he dismissed with a wave of his hand. "But this one involves some of our allies' lives, and they are invaluable in the colonies. The Templars have captured six of our informants and are keeping them hostage in the mountains a little ways away from Acadia. It'd be best to pack enough provisions to last a while; your assignment will not be an ordinary rescue mission. There is an entire Templar colony there and it will be difficult not to arouse suspicion among them as you try to pinpoint our informants' location. Guillaume will accompany you since he's from that area and will be your messenger pigeon to carry news between us."

Connor replaced his knife in its sheath, hesitant to ask his next question. "Will you—"

"Inform you of Aveline's condition?" he finished for the younger man. The Native rouged under his tanned skin and Achilles chuckled. "I wouldn't be so cruel as to keeping you in the dark about that. I know you're fond of her."

He turned away from his mentor, clenching his fists. "I feel partly responsible. The arrow was meant for me."

"There was nothing you could do to stop it. Well, if you two had listened to me and refrained from going to that fortress, she would be accompanying you to Acadia, which I'm sure you'd appreciate very much."

Connor remained in silence; his mentor had become skilled in perceiving his emotions. "I will leave as soon as possible."

Achilles chuckled again. "My boy, simply avoiding your feelings will only make them stronger. But I guess some of us are better at expressing their feelings in action rather than words. I'll leave you alone now to prepare." The old man turned and departed from his room, leaving him alone to his musings as he gathered what he needed.

What if she...passed while he was away? What if she called out for him in the middle of the night, waking up only to find an empty chair? It was too soon for him to care so greatly, but even his mother had noticed that he cared deeply for other people even when he was a toddler.

But this...nagging anxiety—it was different from simply being concerned. He wanted to be there when she woke up; he wanted to see her full and healthy—and smiling. His duties as an Assassin had to come first; being so far away from her would help him readjust his focus after concerning himself with his female ally for close to two weeks now.

Before he left that afternoon, he visited Aveline in her unconscious state one last time. Her once full, round face was now mostly bone and her breaths were shallow and light.

He leaned over her and whispered in a gentle voice, "I will write; and I will expect a response from you...Aveline."

And with that, he departed from her side.

* * *

**Sorry I fell behind with this chapter! It's been a tough 2 weeks since I last updated! Anyway, I hope no one is bored by the chapter; it was a filler mostly, I guess. No action and mostly talk.**

**And if you want to know, yes, Askook committed suicide by biting off his tongue. A large artery runs through the tongue, so he bled out sometime in the night, and suffocated as well. A terrible death, but he was determined not to be taken as a live prisoner by a Mohawk Native.**

**I know some of you raised your brows at the fact that he shared a blanket with her, but she was cold and he really didn't want to sleep without one. He didn't want to just rip the blanket from her.**

**Foxglove poisoning is real and is very similar to what Aveline experienced but there are more symptoms: diarrhea, blurred vision, low blood pressure, hallucinations, fainting, vomiting, stomach pain, headaches. So please, don't ingest any foxglove. You'll be miserable. It's what Aveline's stepmother used on her father. The witch.**

**So yes, Connor and Aveline are quickly drawing close to one another. There is love brewing under the surface, but there will be more twists and surprises in their relationship. So that means, they won't court for 6 months then marry. It's gonna be harder than that for them; don't worry, they'll end up together in the end.**

**Achilles was very understanding in this chapter, was he not? He even gave up punishing the both of them for not listening! **

**And I apologize if anyone was OOC; this chapter was painful to write.**

**The next chapter will be a filler, maybe 3-4,000 words long, so prepare for a lot of conversation.**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Okay, Connerline lovers out there! This is an intermission chapter, sort of. Just to give you an idea of when this takes place, it's April of 1782 at this point and Aveline is just 4 years older than Connor, making her 30. They initially met in mid-March.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Ubisoft, so please do not sue.**

**Also: This chapter will be a long conversation between Connor and Aveline, so prepare to get bored. If you all would like, I can include parts of his mission that are crucial. Yeah, I think I'll do that. Those parts will be in normal print, Connor and Aveline's letters will be in italics. Their relationship is about to switch gears.**

* * *

**Letters of Correspondance**

Aveline had heard him; she had_ felt_ him.

His breath was warm, as were his hands. He smelled of sweat, blood, and earth, fresh yet rugged and masculine.

He prayed over her; he had said goodbye. And he was looking forward to receiving a letter from her.

But she couldn't move. Her eyes wouldn't open. Her throat was closed tight. Her limbs were rendered useless at her sides. She was a shell, a husk, a host for this poison.

She sensed Achilles enter and exit her room a few times a day, perhaps to check on her, but she couldn't open her eyes to tell him she was alright. It required too much of what little energy she had left. Even her heart felt withered and weak as she lay there, helpless.

Was she going to waste away and die? Would she join her father, in heaven perhaps? Will she see her mother there?

_Non_ she thought. _I will not die. But I cannot will my body to rise._

* * *

Guillaume proved to be an invaluable ally to Connor; Achilles' words had proven true about Acadia. There were enemies everywhere, shining bright red as he used his gift to distinguish friend from foe.

The heart of the city was similar to Boston in that it had many brick buildings lining the cobblestone streets, a few churches evenly dispersed in each area, and of course, beggars and orphans pleading for aid in the form of money or food. He knew already to move with the flow of traffic and avoid as many disturbances as possible. The guards watched over the civilians very closely, and were especially aware of him.

Each building he entered, each alley he crossed, every stand he paused in front of, they were a short distance away, trying to remain as unsuspecting as possible. All eyes were on him, the Native, the brown man, the _savage_. He hated that word.

One time, Connor had made the grave mistake of helping an elderly woman who had stumbled over a misplaced stone. The moment she realized he was not one of her kind, she began swatting at him and shouting, drawing the guards' attention to him. They overwhelmed him quickly, dragged him off to a dark alley and took their turns 'teaching the half-Breed a lesson'. He walked back to the bureau with a split lip and bruised ribs.

Because Guillaume was pure European and an ingenious negotiator, he was able to procure two guard uniforms and a log indicating the shift times and changes for each day, and the name of each man on duty. He also had the duty of checking the local mail office for a letter from Aveline. He awaited to hear from her every day; it had been almost two weeks since he had arrived.

When Guillaume came strolling through the door that afternoon, Connor was glaring at the new growth on his scalp in a mirror, contemplating whether he should keep his head shaved or let it grow out once again.

"You got a letter today. From Achilles." Connor took it from him and immediately tore it open.

_I was expecting to hear from you one of these days, Connor. But I understand that you wanted to get started on your mission as soon as possible. If anything is said about Adam Smith or any other Assassin informant, be sure to listen closely to the conversation. We can't afford to allow him or any other traitor to slip out of our grasp. Be careful up there; we have very few allies, and quite a few enemies in Acadia. They will show no mercy. _He had experienced that firsthand.

_Things have gotten quite busy around the Homestead; Prudence is pregnant with her second child and Catherine is carrying another, as well. It seems now is the time to create a family, eh? It must be the season; the spring flowers are in full bloom. _

_I'm sure you're worried sick about Aveline, are you not? You haven't heard from her since your departure and I'm sure you've considered the possibility that she couldn't fight the poison. Well, you have nothing to worry about; she's still very much alive. She's eating bits and pieces of bread like a mouse." _Connor stopped reading to chuckle to himself._ "She's a skeleton compared to what she used to be, but there's hope she will return to us soon._

_~A."_

Connor immediately began to write a letter of his own that night, and had Shane send it off through the mail office in town.

* * *

Achilles was busy preparing soup for dinner when he heard a soft knock on his door a week after he had sent off the letter to Connor. Aveline had requested carrots, chicken and spinach—a strange combination, but a request he was delighted to fulfill.

When he opened the door, the red-headed O'Brien boy handed him a folded piece of paper with a blue seal on it before he hurried away down the road.

While the soup was boiling in the pot, he sat by the fire and read the letter.

_I apologize for not writing upon my arrival in Acadia; the guards here are unrelenting in their hatred for people of color. They make it increasingly difficult for me to walk the streets without their glares on my back. I have been assaulted once already by a mob of them; I am doing my best not to retaliate._

_Guillaume has proved invaluable in this situation; he has procured guard uniforms for the both of us, and has even retrieved a copy of their routine that has every guard listed by name. We plan to infiltrate their prison as two of their own, gain their trust, and find out exactly where they have taken our allies. I suppose it will take some time to do this; I will not return to the Homestead before May begins._

_You must relay my congratulations to the both of them. I wonder if Prudence will name her next child after someone else she has come to respect._

_I...had begun to fear the worst when I failed to hear from her; it is a relief to know she is still alive. I knew she was a strong woman when I met her. It is good to hear that she is eating again; I could not get her to do the same for me. Perhaps she favors you more than I. If this mission does not cost my life, I will be eager to see her well and very much alive when I return. Achilles, you once spoke of being infatuated; I do not know how to distinguish this from lust, or love. I am inexperienced in this area; I have never harbored such feelings for a woman. I have never had the time for such things, but I must admit this: Aveline has garnered my attention. The strange feelings that stir in the pit of my stomach when she smiles—I do not know what to think of them. Perhaps you can shed further insight as to what is happening to me._

_~C."_

Achilles folded the paper, chuckling gently to himself. He was always right.

The boy was falling helplessly in love with her. It was understandable; he was once young and entranced by every tanned beauty he saw. But Abigail was his cherished prize, his one and only true love. And his son, Connor, the result of their affections.

Aveline would not believe it when he gave her the letter to read on her own while she ate. He stood at the door as she put a spoonful of broth to her lips as her eyes scanned the parchment. Suddenly, her eyes widened and she swallowed too quickly, coughing erratically as her bronzed face slowly turned red, from the embarrassment or the hot liquid, he didn't know. But he had a good feeling it was both.

"Achilles," she gasped. "When did this come in?"

"This morning," the old man answered with a grin. "Connor has never been bashful about his feelings; there's no need for me to be surprised that he stay true to himself. His concern for you is more than lust, and it seems that despite your failings, he still wishes to be near you. While you were unconscious, he watched over you night and day; he took Victoria's job of keeping your towel cool and wet. He truly cares for you, and it will only deepen with time."

"Achilles, I..." she was at a loss for words. How did she feel about Connor, exactly? She thought about him more often than she wanted to, and she wanted his attention. He was a handsome fellow, muscular and stately, although sometimes brash and insensitive. "I don't know how to respond to this."

"I had assumed a woman of your upbringing would have experienced a fling or two by now, but it appears you are just as much in the dark about this as he is," Achilles chuckled. "Aveline, just let him know how you're faring now that you're well enough to write. Everything will fall into place, I'm sure."

He retrieved a few sheets of parchment and a pen and ink vat. She held the pen in her left hand, unsure of what to do.

_Just let your heart do the talking_ she reminded herself, and she began to write.

* * *

It was the beginning of May, and Guillaume and Connor had managed to work their way into the ranks of the Acadian guard unit. Zidain DuLac was their captain, and he had assigned them the night watch over the southern district of the city. Neither of the Assassins had managed to listen in to a conversation about the prison, or the missing informants for that matter.

But Guillaume noticed that Connor kept in high spirits, and had even seemed _happier_ as time moved on. He was used to long silences between their conversations, a few upturned chairs when he was highly upset about something, some Mohawk curses muttered under his breath. Now, he was more reflective and sat at the table with a lopsided grin on his face when he thought the young Frenchman wasn't looking.

"Connor, is everything alright?" he asked one night while they stood on the walls of the city. Dawn was a few hours away and their commander wanted to speak with them. The Native was surprised they hadn't rejected his request to join their patrol ranks since he was a half-Breed outsider. Perhaps they thought he'd intimidate the ruffians and scoundrels in the city.

"Everything is well," he replied coolly staring out into the plains covered with fresh, golden grain. "Why do you ask?"

"You seem...happy."

"Is that wrong?" he inquired, amusement in his tone.

"No. I'm used to you being less...happy. Only a woman can make you soft."

Connor remained silent, only affirming his ally's assumptions. His mind was on that morning, when he received his letter.

His name was written in beautiful, graceful cursive, and he could imagine her saying his name. When he unfolded the parchment, the smell of wildflowers invaded his nostrils and he immediately remembered the day he saw her in her green dress.

_Mon cher (My dear) Connor,_

_Achilles informed me that you had been attentive towards me until your departure, and I remember hearing you whisper. I have fulfilled your request. I am very much alive; I believe the poison has left my body. All that is left is recovery._

_I am eating every day, but I cannot risk eating too much, for fear I may lose it. I barely recognize myself in the mirror; I look like a ghost. Perhaps you should have put a sheet over my head so as not to scare Achilles. Maybe I will be healthy when you return in a few weeks._

_Connor, your feelings for me...they surprise me. I didn't think that you would harbor such affection for me so soon, if at all. I didn't think myself fit for anyone's attention. I am impulsive, abrasive, hard-headed, and frustratingly determined. Most men would run from such a woman as if she had the pox. So forgive me if I doubt your sincerity; maybe there is something about me that can be found appealing. When Achilles asked me if I would return such feelings, I didn't know how to respond. I have never, ever felt deep concern for any man. But I know that how I feel is not wrong. I would never admit it to your face, but you are quite a handsome fellow and I am humbled that you would favor me over the fair ladies of the colonies._

_If I am strong enough, maybe I will ride out to meet you upon your return—and who knows what will happen? I look forward to hearing from you._

_~A."_

* * *

Connor should have known better than to let Guillaume get into a fist fight with a seasoned brawler; he had to step in for him and bested the brutish man easily. They were all comrades, and thus it was all supposed to be good fun, but to James, the loser, it did not sit well with him.

He pulled out a knife on Connor and stabbed him in the side when he least expected it. Guillaume rushed the Native home as best as he could and stopped the bleeding just before he passed out. Their commanding officer took away James' uniform and sentenced him to two years in prison for assaulting a fellow officer. Connor was pardoned from duty for a week and Guillaume had the honor of escorting James to the infamous yet seemingly nonexistent Acadian prison.

When Guillaume retired that night, he told Connor about the prison, how dank and unpleasant it was. The men were all put in one large cell with a few buckets for their waste, and the food was tan mush. The guards were able to beat on them whenever they pleased and he had even witnessed one urinating into the cell, laughing at them and calling them animals.

He had also inquired about recent prisoners, and the warden informed him that they had captured some 'special' prisoners that were to be hung the week after the governor of the state had judged them. The Templars had seen to it that the Assassin informants would be rid of permanently.

They had only one window of opportunity, which meant that Connor had to act_—_but not without aid.

He had convinced the other men on night watch to join their cause, and they agreed to help him when the time came.

"The lady waiting for you at home_—_is she a good one?"

"She is more than good. She is an Assassin and also very kind. She is not my woman."

"Then what is she to you?"

"Someone I care deeply for."

"Sounds like she's your lover."

"She is not. I have never touched her intimately."

"So you've never kissed her?"

Connor cleared his throat, loosening the scarf around his neck. "No. She and I...we are not even courting."

"Why not? It's obvious you like her."

"I do not have time to invest in an intimate relationship. She understands this and surely feels the same way."

"You don't desire a family?"

The Native thought for a moment; he had had a similar conversation with Dobby. He wouldn't mind having a wife and children one day, when it was all over. In all his strength, he could not help but envision Aveline; he wasn't even sure she would have him_—_

Until he read her letter in the hours before his shift.

He wrote back the following morning, anxious to receive her letter already.

* * *

May was almost over. Connor would be back any day.

Aveline had gathered enough strength to rouse from the bed and immerse herself in warm water. Her wound still protested a little to the heat, but she ignored it as she closed her eyes and immersed herself, opening her eyes as her hair floated all around her.

She resurfaced and ran her hands along her arms, wondering how successful Guillaume and Connor were in their search for the informants. He had had to infiltrate the Acadian guard unit, gain their trust, and endure their hateful remarks until they learned to respect him, if at all.

It baffled her as to why people like her and Connor were disliked so, as if they were cursed because of their brown skin. Would it ever get better? Could they live in the colonies without having to fear being driven out, or worse yet, killed? Lousiana had become quite diverse once it became legal for European men to marry colored women, but even that arrangement had its pitfalls.

Once she returned to her room, her curly hair dripping wet, she discovered a neatly folded letter on her bed. Her heart skipped a beat as she picked it up and unfolded it.

_"Aveline,_

_It is excellent to hear that you are beginning to recover your health; I feared I would find a skeleton upon my return. And your letters__—they carry your scent. I must ask: was it intentional?_

_I have never been one to hide his feelings; honesty and uprightness are a part of my culture as well as my character. The way I feel about you__—I am uneasy, as well. I do not know what to make of it other than the fact that I have never felt this way about anyone else. I felt love when my mother was alive, I felt love when my grandmother permitted me to leave the village. But this stirring in my heart__—it is far more powerful than anything I have felt other than hatred or sadness._

_____I do not find you repulsive at all; from the day we first met, I saw the kindness in your eyes. The fair ladies you speak of looked at me as if I were not natural, as if I did not belong. But you and I__—we have an understanding that they will never know. Achilles has described me as being impulsive and rock-headed; we are not so different. I do not pay undue attention to the outward appearance of women, but that does not mean I have not noticed your alluring exterior._ Aveline blushed immensely, and suddenly felt self-conscious standing in just a cloth wrapped around her body.

_It appears that I will be returning soon, if our plan goes accordingly. We have gathered a sizable number of allies here, and they are willing to help. Our informants are to be hung very soon, but we will intercept them before they arrive in the public square. I hope to have been fully recovered by then; do not worry. Guillaume had gotten into a squabble with one of the Acadians and I stepped in and failed to discern the mans's ill will towards our friend. A minor stab wound will heal quickly._

_No Assassin can go a day without an ache or a pain; such is our way of life. _

_Perhaps our next words to each other will not be on paper._

_~C."_

Aveline put the parchment inside her drawer, along with the other letters he had sent to her in the past. Pretty soon, she'd have an entire book. He had written it a week ago; June was just three days away.

After she dressed herself in a simple pair of trousers and a loose-fitting blouse, she grabbed her writing supplies and a blanket, and went outside to the balcony. She needed some fresh air in her lungs.

The Homestead was quiet, with the exception of the trees billowing softly in the warm summer breeze and the birds singing quietly off in the distance. It was a perfect day to be outside.

Sighing quietly, she began to write her next letter to Connor.

"Your determination not to heed my words astounds me."

Gasping, she dropped the pen in her lap, in utter shock and disbelief. The female Assassin turned and looked up, only for his muscular body to be obscured by the intense midday sun behind him. She got to her feet slowly, aware of her sensitive abdomen and stared up at him.

He was here.

He was back.

He was alive.

"Connor."

"Aveline." A muted smile graced his lips. He had tanned a bit deeper.

"Your hair," she noted, hesitant to touch his crown. He inclined his head giving her permission to run her hands through it. "It grew back, and it's so long." It was light and feathery to the touch, but still thick and glossy like a raven's feather. "Are the allies safe?"

"Yes. They have returned home safely." His eyes left her face and glanced over her body unashamedly; she blushed a little. "You are starting to look like your old self. I am glad you are recovering." He too had noticed that her dark curls had grown and were well past her shoulders. Silence fell between them as they stared at one another, neither wanting to address the letters they sent to each other.

"Connor..." she drew out, nervously twirling one of her curls around her finger, "I missed you."

"And I you." Without another word, she threw herself into his chest and encircled his waist with her arms, his scent causing a wave of relaxation to wash over her nerves.

To her surprise, he returned the gesture, holding her close, as if he never intended to let her go.

* * *

**End of story! Thanks you guys for following me—kidding. We still have a lot for them to work through! And they haven't done their huge mission together. That's right, they team up again to kick some Templar butt.**

**Before anyone says the romance was rushed, this is not romance. This is fluff. They've finally come to terms with the feelings they have for one another, BUT they've decided not to act on them or make it their priority. They're just acknowledging they like each other one the same level, and will explore their relationship when they have time for it. So no, they're not at the kissing phase yet. I know you guys want them to kiss already, but it's not time. They're both inexperienced in liking someone, so it's awkward for the both of them, like two little kids.**

**I won't spoil the next chapter for anyone, but someone who could tear apart their relationship is coming into the story, further adding substance to this tale and extending it past my originally intended 10 chapters. Oh and the next will definitely be a filler, 3,000 words or less.**

**Make sure to check out my blog on Tumblr for extra Connorline tidbits! askconnorthehoundlover dot tumblr dot com.**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Alright guys, this is the official chapter nine and the start of Aveline and Connor's more intimate relationship. As said in an interview with Noah Watts, if Connor were to become romantically involved, the dynamics of his personality would have to change, so get ready to have some OOC moments as he begins to show his softer side!**

**Also, the votes are in and I've decided to do a mix of fluff and complications. Hold your breath!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Ubisoft, so please don't sue.**

**Note: This timeline does not follow the game closely; it's May of 1782 and Achilles is still alive in my story.**

* * *

**Weaving the Cords **

Aveline never wanted to let go. The steady, loud thumping of Connor's heart against her ear; it did something to her nerves. It excited them, made her tingle all over in pleasure. It was a foreign sensation, something she once thought shameful, but only because her stepmother raised her to believe that a man and woman were not to touch unless it was to make a child. And neither of them were prepared for that.

His large hands burned through the thin material of her shirt as they supported her narrow frame, and she suddenly felt delicate, yet safe in his arms. Is this how her mother felt when with her father?

"I would love to stay like this for a bit longer, but I'm afraid we wouldn't get anything done," she muttered against his chest.

"What is there to do, Aveline? The mission is complete," he said, but pulled away, anyway. There was a tinge of red in his cheeks, but she kept the observation to herself.

"You're right, but...don't you wish to bathe and eat? I'm sure you're famished."

"Well..." he started to say, folding his arms. His midsection protested loudly to its emptiness, and she giggled. "I suppose I can no longer ignore my stomach. I will ask Achilles to make something for the both of us, if you are well enough to eat."

"Of course I am, cher. I wouldn't be walking around if I wasn't. Maybe I can fait la cuisine?" she suggested. Connor raised a single brow. "Make the food. I can cook, too."

"You are much too weak to stand over a hot, boiling stove. It is better if we ask Achilles."

"He is no better; an old man with a cane. Connor," she said softly, standing so close to him that she had to crane her neck to look into his face, "I want to. For you."

He looked deep into her eyes and began to turn a deep shade of red as he glanced away. "Fine. But if you faint, I will not let you hear the end of it."

"Just go get clean, Connor. You smell like a horse stable," she joked, pushing him inside the manor.

"I do not know whether to be insulted or ignore that remark," he grumbled, dragging his heels until they stopped at the washroom door. The male Assassin turned to her, his arms folded across his broad chest.

Aveline flashed him a toothy smile and patted his arm. "Do not take everything I say seriously, mon cher. But don't put those clothes back on." He started to say something until she tapped his nose with her finger and hurried away as he stared at her retreating form in confusion.

'She is most definitely alive,' he thought as he opened the door and let himself inside.

* * *

Aveline was careful not to bound down the stairs as if she were twelve again—and not bearing an injury that may or may not heal completely. Dr. White had visited her a few hours before Connor had arrived, in the early morning. He told her the poison had damaged some of her body tissue and may have killed the healing properties in the impacted area. Without proper use of her arm, she couldn't wield two weapons at once, nor could she defend her right side efficiently.

She'd be forced to retire early; she couldn't do that. Her brethren needed her—_Connor_ needed her. What was she to become? Moral support? A crippled informant?

The thought of being reduced to such a _weakened_ state frightened her as she massaged her sore side. Her days would be filled with writing reports, cooking meals, and cleaning house, like a common housewife, which she was not.

But what if...what if she and Connor did marry? And she came to be with child? The thought of being a mother made her heart clench in uncertainty. She'd be confined to the manor once she began to show and in the weeks following the birth of the child, she'd be rendered useless.

_But it's for good reason_ she reminded herself, grabbing a knife to cut the carrot in front of her. A baby, a child—she was foolish for thinking so far ahead, but as with all women, she desired such. It didn't seem possible when she was just entering the phase of adulthood; a few suitors here and there sought her hand, but once they found a girl with more wealth or greater beauty, they no longer cared to dote on her.

Connor didn't fret with such things as her money, her status, her lovely home in New Orleans. None of it seemed to matter to him; just her. The idea warmed her heart a little; the possibility of never wearing her uniform again wasn't so bad after all.

* * *

Once Connor finished his cleaning ritual, he entered his room, reaching for his Assassin uniform once again, until he remembered Aveline's words. She was doing something special for him; the least he could do was heed her request and wear something different.

He pulled open his drawers and rifled through the clothing, removing a pair of black trousers and a tan-colored shirt that was laced together by string in the front. The male Assassin frowned a little; he needed something better than that. Suddenly, he got an idea and began rummaging through his closet when he finally found what he was looking for, immediately putting it on and heading down the stairs quietly.

Achilles was nowhere in sight, perhaps in his room still resting before dinner. The manor was quiet, with the exception of a soft, velvety voice echoing through the halls. He stopped for a moment, recognizing the rich tone as Aveline's and headed for the kitchen. Once he stepped foot in the doorway, he found himself observing her at the counter, her back to him as she chopped away at some poor vegetable. She too had changed clothes; her dark green dress dipped low in the back, revealing her smooth, bronze skin and the muscles in her back as she worked. A piece of the food she was cutting fell to the floor, and she bent over to grab it; Connor willed himself to look away, give her some privacy, but he could not help but note the gentle curve of her backside as she angled herself to pick it up and wipe it on an apron. A moment later, she whimpered softly, holding her side, and he felt something inside him wither. The wound had yet to heal.

Once his trance broke, he knocked on the frame, and Aveline turned to him, a smile on her face. "Ah, Connor! I was just cutting some potatoes for Achilles for dinner! Lunch is ready; I hope you like venison soup." She grabbed a bowl, filled it, and then set it on the table, and did the same with the other before looking him up and down. "You look like a true gentleman. Blue is a nice color on you."

Connor coughed into his hand, trying to hide his nervousness. "Thank you. Your...dress is lovely as well." Once she turned away to grab spoons for the both of them, he exhaled in relief and sat down at one end while she sat at the other.

He began eating immediately once his stomach growled again, and Aveline quietly took up her spoon and began eating as well. She admired her own cooking skills as she ate, and even contemplated getting a second helping. As she chewed, she realized Connor had grown still, and looked up. She immediately regretted it.

He was watching her, his golden brown eyes unashamed and serious as ever. The female Assassin lowered her head, trying to hide her blush and continued eating, painfully aware that he was watching her jaws, her hands, her _lips. _This wasn't a good idea.

Once she finished, she mustered enough courage to lift her head and ask, "How was it?"

Connor gave her a warm smile. "Exceptional. Better than the old man's venison soup."

Aveline tried not to burst into a large grin but she couldn't help it. "I'm glad you liked it. Would you like another bowl?"

"No. It was filling enough. I am sure Achilles would want us to have empty stomachs for supper. Now, I have something I want to show you." He got to his feet and headed out the door; she followed closely and watched as he pulled on the candlebras next to the main hall and a door slid open.

"What's down there?" she asked warily. He chuckled, remembering how she felt about the dark.

"You'll see." He extended his large, gloved hand and she took it, trailing close behind him. It smelled like dust and old wood, but it was a well-maintained place with practice dummies made of wood, a sparring ring, and several outfits that Connor had decided to keep in the secret room.

"This is your training room?"

"Yes. And I keep my weapons down here." He led her to a waist-high table, where a long, rectangular chest sat closed.

"Qu'est-ce que c'est (What is it)?" Connor unhooked the latches and opened the case, revealing his trusted tomahawk, freshly polished and sharpened. "C'est genial (nice)," she breathed, touching the blade's cool metal surface.

"It is a sacred weapon passed on from warrior to warrior over many centuries among my people. It has saved my life many times." He lifted it from its case and set it in her hands. "You are welcome to use it at any time." Aveline admired the axe's weight, how light it felt in her hands, as well as the intricate details on the handle. She set it down and turned to him.

"Thank you Connor, I-I don't know what to say."

He trailed his pointing finger down her cheek, the warm skin of her face soft and smooth. "You do not need to say anything," he said softly. They stared at one another in silence, neither wanting to take the first step forward.

The sound of Achilles' wooden cane hitting the floorboards above them jolted them out of their moment, and he stepped away. "There is something else I would like to show you. But you must trust me."

Aveline furrowed her brows for a moment, then nodded her head in understanding. "Alright."

He removed his kerchief from his breast pocket and stepped towards her, tying it around her eyes. "I will guide you to our destination." She felt his warm hand envelop hers as he returned up the stairs with her close behind and led her out the front door. With midday long gone and the afternoon fading into the evening, the sounds of the Homestead had quieted drastically. The children were still outside, laughing and playing, but the echo of metal against metal and the grunts of hard work had long ceased.

"Connor, if you plan on leaving me in the middle of the forest blindfolded, I'll—"

"Do not worry," he assured her, giving her hand a slight squeeze. "I am not one to play games that children do." He whistled loudly and seconds later, a horse came galloping up the road. Aveline felt for the horn on the saddle, and started to help herself up when Connor grabbed a firm hold of her hips—to which she blushed—and lifted her with ease into the saddle. After getting on behind her, he snapped the reigns and they took off at a steady trot in silence.

Without the use of her eyes, Aveline used her other senses to 'see' the world. She could taste the moisture in the air, which meant that they were close by a body of water, but what was more unsettling was that she could feel the muscular contours of Connor's chest against her back and she could hear his every breath as it escaped his lips. Why couldn't they have ridden to their destination separately? "Are you alright?" he asked gently, his chin grazing her shoulder.

"Yes," she replied too quickly, hoping he didn't notice her nervousness. The Native returned to his original position and she sighed in relief. They rode for another extended period of time until she could hear water ebbing and flowing against the land and what sounded like the creaking of a boat's wooden floorboards. The horse came to a stop, and Connor slid off before gingerly helping her to the ground.

"We are almost there," he assured her, putting his hands on her shoulders as they walked. Her feet landed on something bumpy and rigid, but she continued on anyway until they were standing on smooth flooring. "Stay here." His footsteps faded as he moved about the vessel and soon after, she heard Mr. Faulkner cry out, "Treat the ladies gently, Connor!"

Suddenly, her blindfold was removed, and she found herself on board a large battle cruiser, so much unlike her father's shipping boats. Aveline turned to find Connor standing at the helm and he beckoned her with his hand.

"Whose boat is this?" she asked, standing next to him. It had been quite some time since she had sailed with her father, may his soul rest in peace.

"Mine. Its name is the _Aquila_." Aveline stood in silence for a moment, until she felt his hand at her waist and coaxed her into standing at the helm in front of him. She stood as stiff as a plank of wood until his hands covered hers, guiding them to the wooden wheel. "Do you know how to steer a boat?"

"Non. My father never taught me," she replied.

"It is simple; you turn the wheel right to go right, and left to go left. Once the winds pick up, it becomes more difficult to steer it in the desired direction, so you must start the turn early. Today is a good day to sail."

The sun was beginning to set on the western side of the boat, giving the once blue sky a beautiful array of colors, ranging from soft lilac to burning passionate red against the green-blue of the ocean. "This is beautiful, Connor. Thank you."

"You are most welcome." She relaxed a bit more, falling back gently into his chest as they slowly headed out into open water. "Aveline."

"Hmm, oui, Connor?"

"Earlier today, I noticed that your wound was giving you trouble; it has been several months since it happened. Has he evaluated it?" He felt Aveline tense against him; obviously, she had hoped he wouldn't notice that she was still in pain.

"Yes," she replied.

"And?"

"I do not wish to say."

"Aveline...are you...dying?"

"Non, of course not. It's just that..." she trailed off, hesitant to go on. He turned her around to face him and looked into her eyes that seemed wrought with worry. It sickened his stomach a little, to see her unsettled.

"What is it?" he asked.

"There is a chance that I will have to retire if it doesn't heal in a few weeks' time."

"Then it is the life course you will have to accept. It is beyond your control."

"Connor, I am barely over thirty years of age and still very capable as an Assassin. I am useless to the order if I cannot fight, much less hold a weapon in my hand without any pain! I will be forgotten and overlooked, and you will have to fight alone. I cannot allow that to happen."

"Aveline, your fate has not yet been sealed, and neither I or Achilles will forget about you simply because you can no longer fight. Your being an Assassin is an invaluable resource to the order, but it does not and will not change how I feel about you. In and out of the uniform, you are the same woman."

"It's just that...I don't know what to do to help the situation at hand," she said quietly, casting her eyes to the wooden floorboards.

"I will help you."

Her head snapped up. "How?"

"It will require some physical effort, but you must learn to endure the pain and overcome it." He returned to the wheel and began to turn the _Aquila_ back towards the dock.

Aveline remained silent in her musings, hoping and praying that Connor had the solution to her problem.

* * *

The next morning, Aveline roused from sleep, soothing her aching side with her palm as she stood to get dressed. Once her sleeping shirt was removed, she could see the full extent of the poison's damage.

The skin had not yet completely healed and was a dark shade of purple, like a fresh bruise. It had looked that way the week before, and the thought made her slam her fist onto the dresser. She muttered all of the French curse words she could think of before she put on her fitted tunic for her training. Connor told her to meet him fifty paces east of the Homestead for the first phase.

When she arrived, he was already there, propped against a tree without his traditional Assassin robes. Today, he was wearing a pair of dark blue trousers tucked into his moccasins and a gray sleeveless shirt that revealed his golden brown arms that had been conditioned through years of training. He noticed her and immediately stood straight. "How did you sleep?"

"Fine," she sighed. Aveline appreciated his concern, but she wanted to get on the road to recovery as soon as possible.

"It does not seem like you are alright. Is it the injury?"

"No," she snapped. A look of surprise and anger-? crossed his features before he exhaled calmly.

"Then let us get started." He faced the mass of the forest and pointed towards the fallen tree trunks and low branches. "I am certain your ability to discern the swiftest path across the forest is still in prime condition, but your body is not. Clear this plot of forest without touching the grass, and you can proceed to the next exercise."

Aveline folded her arms across her chest. "What does this have to do with healing my injury?"

"It requires balance to accomplish such a simple feat for an Assassin. That injury and weeks of being off of your feet will have made it difficult. This is a test." She hesitated, and he pushed her forward by her waist. "You must try at least."

"Ne me touchez pas (Don't touch me), Connor," she mumbled, moving out of his grasp. Her eyes focused on her designated course, and she took in a heavy breath. Silently, she lunged forward, using all of her strength to propel her body forward. She felt her old reflexes returning as she ran up the fallen tree and grabbed the branch above her, swinging to the next and climbing up the base of the tree. The injury began to protest, yet she ignored it as she stood on the next branch and leaped to the next, dropping down and swinging onto a fallen tree. The other side of the clearing was close; if she could just—

Aveline lost her footing, and she flailed her arms madly, aggravating her wound even more in her struggle to maintain balance. The ground seemed so far away, but down she went and landed hard in the grass. Her backside cushioned her fall, but it still hurt, nonetheless. "Zut!" (Darn!) Connor helped her to her feet; his expressionless face remained the same as he asked her, "Are you alright?"

"Yes. I was so close!" she whined.

"It is good that you reached the end, but you failed to note the moss growing on the trunk. Otherwise, you would have succeeded."

"I have to do it again?" she groaned.

He chuckled. "No. At least not yet." The male Assassin started off in another direction and she followed close behind, keeping one eye on him and one on the ground.

She hadn't noticed how broad his shoulders were or how he was nearly twice her size in height and width until that moment. Even his hands were much larger than her own; she stretched her palms out in front of her as she walked. They had just touched, and she could still feel the heat from his body on hers. Aveline felt her cheeks growing hot and rubbed her face.

"Is something bothering you?" he asked, jolting her from her incursion on her face. His eyes watched her quizzically.

"No," she replied quickly, putting her hands behind her back. He nodded once and continued walking, "We are not far from the next exercise." Her eyes traveled down his spine and ceased on his backside. She closed her eyes. _Ava, desire grows when the eyes wander_ she reminded herself. Suddenly, her face collided with something hard and she fell to the ground, clutching her nose.

She tried her best not to cry, but the pain kept blossoming and growing like a wildfire across her face. The tears came involuntarily as Connor rushed to her side.

"You failed to see the tree?" he asked, the pads of his fingers touching her face.

"My eyes were closed," she whined, wiping away her tears. "Stupide arbre (Stupid tree)."

"Why?"

"Because...Je ne sais pas(I don't know)!" she sighed angrily. Connor chuckled again, and she glared at him, pulling away. "What's so funny?"

"I do not understand what you are saying, but your frustration is refreshing."

"How is my frustration refreshing?"

"It is just so. Shall we return to the manor?"

"Of course not! I'm not bleeding, so I'm fine!" she protested. The male Assassin gave her a small grin before awkwardly grazing her cheek with his thumb. Aveline felt her cheeks growing hot again.

"You are one stubborn woman."

* * *

**Alright, official chapter 9 is DONE! Ahead of schedule I might add.**

**This was a very different chapter from the others wasn't it? More fluff and romance than anything! But there's also a complication presented: Aveline's injury. So now that that's an issue, they must focus on getting her back to 100% rather than building their relationship. As you can see, Aveline isn't afraid to take her frustrations out on Connor.**

**And isn't it sweet that Connor is trying to be affectionate? Of course, it will become more awkward once they really get into their relationship. That first kiss is still kind of far off. I like slow burning romance; speaking of which, was the dinner, the tomahawk and the boat ride really romantic? Be honest.**

**Don't worry; a bigger complication will come in the next chapter and will REALLY test our two beloved Assassins!**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: I guess I must have done something wrong; chapter nine barely got looked at...Anyway, here's chapter ten, more fluff mixed with the complication of Aveline's possible retirement, as well as another, much bigger complication.**

**Also: I'm sorry for releasing this late; a lot has been going on lately.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Ubisoft, so please don't sue.**

* * *

**Apparitions  
**

The two Assassins continued on after Connor helped Aveline to her feet; they walked side by side in silence as she willed herself not to cry in front of him. She was stronger than that.

_I was too busy raking him with my eyes to see the stupid tree in front of me; what's wrong with me?_ she asked herself, paying more attention to her surroundings. The forest was eerily quiet that day, with the exception of the mid-morning breeze drifting slowly through the densely rooted trees and the trickle of the nearby river.

Her side began to throb involuntarily, and Aveline soothed it with the warm palm of her hand until it ceased. Why hadn't the foxglove departed from her body? Was she too weak to fight it? Was it to become a part of her for the rest of her life and render her a cripple?

_May that never be so!_ she resolved, chewing on her bottom lip, unaware that she was being watched.

"Something on your mind?" Connor asked quietly, turning towards her with muted interest.

She looked up into his chiseled face and shook her head softly. "No. Not really; I'm ready to be back in the field, with you." His eyes twinkled with surprise and the skin on his cheeks turned a slightly deeper shade than the rest of his visage.

"I understand your anxiety, but healing takes time," he reasoned gently. "We are at the next exercise." Aveline looked around; there was a bow and arrows propped against a fallen trunk, and a few practice dummies made of straw off in the distance.

"I never learned how to shoot an arrow," she informed him, watching him pick up the wooden apparatus.

"Then you will learn today." He handed the bow to her and gave her an arrow.

"Why?"

"In the instance you need it—and if your wound does not heal completely."

"It will. I know it will," she said quietly, lifting the bow. She felt quite silly; she didn't know what she was doing, but Connor wouldn't be made aware of that.

"You do not know what you are doing at all," he stated matter-of-factly.

"I've never even _tried _to learn," she sighed, lowering her arms. "This is useless!" Suddenly, she felt his presence close behind her as his hands engulfed hers and encouraged her to lift her limbs once again. Aveline wanted to elbow him in the ribs on impulse, but she immediately calmed as he spoke, as if not wanting to disturb the silence in the air, "You must be patient. Do not pull the string too tight, but do not let it rest. Hold the bow firmly in your palm." He adjusted her fingers, unaware of what he was doing to the woman.

His breaths were warm and sweet against the skin on her neck, and it made her nerves tingle all over. His scent washed over her the more he closed the gap between their bodies in his effort to right her stance, and the female Assassin could feel his chest collide gently with her back.

_I've got to stay calm. He's not trying to make me embarrassed; he's trying to help me_ she reminded herself. "You must have the right stance, as well." His large hands ghosted over her shoulders and turned her body ever so slightly, before they slid down to her thin waist and turned her hips in the same direction. "Now, pull back the arrow along with the string." She did just so, and nearly broke concentration when his palm spread flat against her stomach. "Take in a deep breath and release at the peak of your inhale." Aveline let the arrow go and it sailed through the air, hitting the closest dummy directly in the forehead. Smiling, she turned to him just as he gave her a small grin, "Perfect."

They stared at one another absent-mindedly until Connor took up another arrow and handed it to her. "Try it again, without my help this time." Slightly nervous, she licked her lips and lifted the bow and arrow, closing one eye and focusing her sight on the same dummy. She took in a deep breath, and released at its peak, watching the arrow sail through the air and hit the tree instead of the head made of straw.

Before Connor could say anything, she had thrown down the bow and began to storm off, fighting the burning sensation in her eyes and throat.

"Aveline! Aveline, wait!" he called after her. She refused to slow her pace and show him her childish tantrum. He grabbed her hand and turned her around. "Aveline, you cannot expect perfection; this is just the first day."

She looked away, folding her arms across her chest. "I shouldn't even bother trying. I'll be stuck behind a desk for the rest of my life."

"That is not true," he assured her, holding her by her biceps. "Give it time, Aveline. Have patience." Awkwardly, he cupped the side of her face and thumbed her cheek before he let go, clearing his throat.

Her stance wavered slightly, her shoulders slackening as if she bore a heavy weight on her shoulders."I've been bedridden for too long to let something as little as this hinder me from being an Assassin. We don't have time to waste; _I_ am the waste." A single tear fell from her eyes before she hurried away, trying to sob as quietly as she could.

* * *

"How long has she been upstairs, Connor?" his mentor asked.

The younger Assassin stared up at the ceiling as if he were watching her through the floor. "Almost eight hours. I have knocked, I have called out her name; she does not respond. This injury has driven her to madness."

"Apparently, she does not cope well with failure on her own part. It is something that Assassins can easily fall into if they expect too much from themselves."

"What should I do?" he inquired softly. She had been quiet for a while—no cries of frustration, no loud, wracking sobs of disappointment. Just silence.

"If you're worried about her that much, then you should see to her, make sure she hasn't hurt herself." Sighing softly, the Native headed up the stairs, thinking of what he could say to encourage her to keep trying. She was finally well enough to move around the house, but now she was at risk of being confined to the manor until she returned home.

Which brought up his next question: how long did she plan on staying in the colonies? As long as it took to find her mother? What if she never found her mother? What if she had died and been tossed aside on the road—or worse yet, into the seas?

He rapped on the door a few times. "Aveline." He tried again. No response. He turned the knob; it didn't budge. His heart quickened its pace as he tried to force his way in. "Aveline, open the door," he demanded. He failed to hear movement behind the door and leaned his shoulder against the wooden door. One good shove would bust it open. Connor stepped back a little and then drove enough force to make the door fling open and hit the wall loudly.

The candle was lit, giving the room a warm golden glow as the light fell on her surroundings. Aveline was laying face up to the ceiling, studying the grooves in the wood. "What good am I to the Assassins if I can't even shoot an arrow or keep my balance on a stupid tree?" she asked.

"Every person that volunteers their energy for the Brotherhood is appreciated; it will be the same for you if you do not heal properly."

The female Assassin scoffed, sending him a distasteful glare. "It's easy to say such things when you are not the one in the situation. You don't have to feel inadequate; you're in perfect health."

Connor listened quietly, analyzing her words. "You are right. But more is expected of me because of it. I cannot make mistakes because I cannot afford to."

She sat up, tracing her fingers in the cool sheets of the bed. "I do not want the other Assassins to pity me and make excuses for me if I fail. This injury was meant to be nothing, a minor inhibition, but now it has rendered me a cripple!"

Connor approached her carefully and sat next to her. "I am grateful to you."

Her face softened, "Quoi (What)?"

"The Algonquian told me before he died that the arrow was meant for me. I would have been the one fighting for my life if it had not been for you."

Aveline digested his words, sitting still for a few moments. "It wasn't intentional."

"I know, but I feel like I am indebted to you for my life, my health."

Her eyes widened as she stared at him, her lips parted slightly. "C-Connor...I—"

"Connor! I need you for something!" Achilles called up the stairs. Sighing, the younger male Assassin gave Aveline an apologetic look before he left her alone in her room.

* * *

"What is it, Achilles?" he asked.

"Before I begin, how is she feeling?"

"Not well. She feels that her healing process is not going well at all. If it does not allow her to function properly, she will be forced to retire from field assignments, and that is something she does not want to let go of."

"Hm. It is understandable, because I was once in her situation. I was in the prime of my life when I injured my leg; I was devastated when I discovered that I would not be able to stand without the aid of a cane. It meant that I was no longer invaluable to the order. I was expendable. But I did not follow that line of thought for too long; my wife, Abigail, helped me to see that words are just as powerful as action, and I began to train my son before the slow fever took the both of them away."

"No two people are the same, Achilles. Aveline feels that she will no longer be appreciated if she cannot fight. What am I to do?"

"All that you can do is encourage her not to give up and help her to see alternative ways of accepting the situation. There's still much to do within the order." The old man allowed the thought to permeate his pupil's mind before he continued. "Now, I have a concern that needs your attention, as well as your hands. Dr. White would like to use a part of the land near the manor as site for a permanent clinic; the number of settlers continue to grow around us."

"What would you have me do?"

"Go into town to the general store and purchase building supplies; he'd like to get started as soon as possible." Nodding once, Connor headed for the door and stepped outside into the midday sun. Whistling for a horse, he turned and looked up at Aveline's bedroom window. He didn't expect her to be standing there to wave goodbye, but he was anxious to check on her well-being. Being the kind of woman that she was, she might've scolded him for checking on her so often, as if she were a sickly child, and he chuckled at the thought as the steed trotted up the road.

_She would still appreciate the thought_ he concluded as he mounted the saddle and then snapped the reigns, galloping down the road towards the city.

* * *

Once Connor was gone, Aveline slipped on her boots, grabbed her weapons, and attempted to sneak out of the front door until she heard the soft _click clack_ of Achilles' cane on the hardwood floors. "And where are we off to?" he asked.

"I'm going to find my hat. Connor left it somewhere along the road," she lied. The old man was a little irate at times, but he wasn't dumb.

"That hat is long gone; you're better off wearing a hood. I'm sure we have an extra in the basement," he waved his hand lazily. "Now, where are you _really_ going?"

"Nowhere."

"Come now, Aveline. If you weren't going anywhere, then you'd feel comfortable leaving your weapons in your room. Is this about your injury?"

She eyed the old man, cursing him for his discernment. "I'll only know for sure if I test my limits. I have to keep training, Achilles. I cannot sit at home and let the other Assassins do all the work."

He neared her and put his hand on her shoulder. "My dear, you must understand we all have our limits, some less extensive than others. Your mentor informed me that you've been under his tutelage since you were twelve and displayed great potential for being a formidable Assassin. You've proven such by becoming a Master before you turned twenty-five. You ended the threat of the Louisiana Templars. That is a great accomplishment. If retirement is to come in a few days, a few years, or decades from now, you must accept that life always changes, and there is nothing we can do to stop these changes, no more than we can change the course of a river."

Aveline fell silent for a few moments. "You're right, but I cannot give up so easily. I _have_ to do this." She opened the door, stepped out into the evening, and was gone.

* * *

After the first hour, Connor grew curious.

After the fourth, he began to question her whereabouts.

When nightfall crept along, he began to worry.

Aveline had disappeared, and his mentor claimed he hadn't seen or heard her all day. His casual replies denoted otherwise; something was up.

"Old man, I am aware you know where she is," he accused, slightly irritated.

Achilles looked up from his book, annoyance in his knitted brows. "Before you start throwing accusations and assumptions around, do care to have something to back up your claims."

"You know that she is still wounded and vulnerable; you would not have let her leave unless she convinced you to let her go. It is late, she does not know the land, and there are bandits on the roads at night. She has been hurt once and I will not let it happen again."

Achilles sighed, turning the page of his book. "I don't know exactly where she is, but she took her weapons along with her. Make sure you find the extra hood for her, as well. She voiced her concern over her lost hat."

Without another word, Connor left the manor with great haste and set out on foot. Tugging a horse along on a search would only complicate the matter.

He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes, and then opened them, and her footprints glowed bright yellow. Following them directly into the forest, he began to anticipate what her excuse would be for leaving without telling him. The animals of the night began to make their ritualistic chorus of activity—the owl with its occasional coo into the wind, the crickets' chirps in the tall grass. It was only a matter of time until the predatory animals began to forage and hunt for food.

Her tracks led him up a steep hill past several large boulders and into a clearing surrounded by pine trees.

And there she was, her outer clothing cast to the ground in a messy pile. The skin on her bare, toned arms glowed bronze under the setting sun, and the perspiration from her body made her blouse hug her slender waist. Her hair was tousled and clung to her face as sweat dripped from her forehead. The tree in front of her was marred with dozens of slash marks from her knife; she seemed to be admiring her work in silence until she suddenly sprang into action, striking against it as if it were another human.

Connor had to admit, she was beautiful. Her movements had a sort of alluring grace to them, like an enchanting dance of death. Her slender limbs were controlled and driven by raw strength in each volley. Just as he began to anticipate her moves, she stopped, gasping loudly in pain as she dropped her knife to grasp her wound. He moved to help her, but he didn't want to disturb her.

"How long are you going to stand there and watch me?" she asked, turning to him as she soothed her rib cage.

He cleared his throat and stepped forward. "I came to bring you back to the manor. It is getting late."

"I know my way back," she replied quickly.

"There are bandits on the roads at night and you are in no shape to defend yourself."

"I'll do as I please, Connor, as I had been doing before I met you," she snapped.

He felt a slight pang in his chest at her words and acted on the need to justify his actions. "Are you so blinded by pride that you will not listen to reason? What good is there in putting yourself at risk unnecessarily?"

"Tu enfant stupide (You stupid child), do not think you can follow me wherever I go and force me to heed your every word!" she seethed, stomping towards him. "You are not my husband!"

Connor could feel his blood starting to rush through his veins as he clenched his fists. A stubborn woman, indeed! "The only reason I follow you is to ensure _your_ safety! The night you stole those clothes, your search for your mother in that mercenary camp—both incidents put both of us at risk because of _your_ actions! It is true, I did not have to go along with it, but when you care enough about someone to ensure their well-being, then you help them, no matter the cost!" he shot back. "Or do you not want anyone to care?"

All of the fire she carried in her hazel eyes immediately diminished, yet she refused to speak. She looked as if on the verge of tears, and he felt guilt sink in quickly. He did not mean to hurt her feelings.

Silently, she went for her things, gathered them in her arms, and waited for him to take the lead.

* * *

When they returned to the Homestead, most of the day's activities had died down. Dr. White's new facility had been planned out already; they had all the supplies they needed to start. Connor was to start laying the foundation the next day, and the project would span an entire month, if the weather permitted.

Upon entering the manor, the pair discovered that Achilles had extinguished all of the candles except the several candlebras leading up the stairs. Neither of them wanted to be the first to speak, to break the tense silence between them.

"Good night," the Native said quickly, his heavy feet treading up the stairs. Once in his room, he kicked off his moccasins and removed his Assassin robes. He was not surprised that she had failed to say the same to him; in fact, he felt that she was justified in not wanting to say a word to him. He had blamed her outright for all that had befallen her since her arrival in the colonies.

Lying down, he stared up at the ceiling, wondering what he could do to remedy the situation and return to forging a bond that he hoped one day would become permanent.

He had heard other men mention their future plans, once the war was over. Some were already married, and looked forward to returning to their wives and children. Some had wives who were carrying their firstborn, and it had been several years since then, so they were often nervous and excited about meeting their sons and daughters. And there were many like him—unmarried, childless, and no one to even think of as his 'lady in waiting'. He wanted a wife and children someday, but he didn't have the time for them, and he didn't wish to deprive his family of his attention.

As he focused on his musings, a soft rapping on the door broke his concentration, and he immediately got up to answer it.

To his surprise, it was Aveline. She had changed clothes—perhaps even bathed—in a short period of time, and stood there, looking up at him like a lost child. If he weren't so bewildered by her sudden appearance, he might have smiled at the notion.

"Aveline."

"May I come in?" she asked, unwavering. His jaw nearly dropped, and he began to panic. Should he let her in? Should he leave the door open? Should he let her sit and he prefer to stand? Or should he say that he was too tired to talk?

"Of course." She gave him a small smile and stepped past him as he closed the door. His heart pounded furiously in his chest and his palms began to sweat as he watched her sit on his bed, looking around. Then her eyes fell on him.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. The Native remained silent, his face still as fixed as stone. He crossed his arms over his broad chest. Aveline licked her lips and looked away. "I'm sorry that I yelled at you, when all you want to do is help me."

"I understand your frustrations. I am not upset with you," he told her in a soft voice.

The bronze woman looked up at him once again and gave him a small smile, before her face immediately dropped into a frown and she began weeping quietly. He went to her and reluctantly put his arm around her shoulders. Immediately, she leaned into him, burying her face into his neck. Her tears fell against the bare skin of his chest as she spoke again, "I'm useless if I don't get better. With my father dead, I don't own anything, I have nowhere to live, and my mother is probably dead. This is a fool's chase, I'll never find her."

"You must not give up, Aveline. She is out there somewhere. And if you have no home, the manor will always be open to you. Achilles and I do not mind an extra person." Once again, he gingerly held her hand, noting the slight difference in skin tone as well as the significant difference in size.

"Can I stay here? Um, in your room?" she asked quietly. Connor felt his entire body freeze over, and he lost all thought.

A woman.

In _his_ bed.

Next to him.

Near him.

_Touching_ him. "Aveline..." he trailed off, not wanting to say no and consequently push her away, but not wanting to say yes and risk losing control with her so close.

She removed her hand and moved away, "You're right, that was a silly question. I'-I'll go back to my room," she stated quietly. Before she could get to her feet, his hand was around her arm. Inquiringly, she focused her eyes on his face.

"Stay." Smiling, she dove beneath his covers, trying to get settled as he rounded the mattress, sweat pouring from his forehead as he tried to gain control over his thoughts. _Nothing is going to happen. She does not wish to be alone. I will protect our trust. I will remain in control_ he told himself as he settled under the blankets, folding his arms behind his head as he looked up at the ceiling. _If I keep my distance from her—_

Suddenly, he felt a weight settle on his chest and the soft exhale from Aveline's lips graze his skin. His heart seized for a moment, and thankfully, it didn't start to thud too loudly against her ear. He didn't know what to do: embrace her or stay still?

"You have a strong heart, Connor," she noted quietly. "La coeur du lion (The heart of the lion). It's only fitting."

"What do you mean?" he asked, closing his eyes.

"You do so much for everyone around you. Sometimes the work is difficult, but you start and finish it, no matter what. It takes a strong heart to endure what you have." She threw her arm over his torso and curled into his side. "The Brotherhood needs more people like you: selfless, devoted, kind." Aveline gave him a slight squeeze. "I wouldn't want to befriend any lesser man."

He said nothing in return, listening as her breaths grew deeper with each minute, and soon he knew that she had fallen asleep.

His mind turned to the day (hopefully) that he wouldn't have to worry about the consequences of sharing a bed with a woman. It would be _their_ bed, and theirs alone.

He decided that he could get used to this.

* * *

Connor knew that there was more to Aveline than she led him to believe. The search for her mother extended past the real world; it infiltrated her dreams. Her father's death, her stepmother's betrayal—words unspoken by her conscious self. If they hadn't decided to share a bed that night, he would have never known about Madeleine or Philippe, or perhaps she would have waited long after their relationship had progressed to tell him what lingered in the recesses of her mind.

He was not the only one with demons from the past.

More than once, he found himself having to rub her back in smooth circles as she fought off an evil entity in her dream. Her night terrors caused her to dig her nails into the skin on his rib cage, startling him awake, and so he held her hand, anchoring her to reality, and she slept peacefully the rest of the night.

When he awakened the next morning, he expected to feel her head resting on his chest; instead, his hand landed on his own body. He sat up quickly and noted that her space on the bed was empty and had been for some time. How long had he been sleeping?

Glancing at the sun, he realized that it was mid-morning; Dr. White's new facility was still in bits and pieces. After a long stretch, he got to his feet, noticing a folded piece of paper on his dresser.

He picked it up and unfolded it, reading:

_'Went to town to retrieve some vegetables for dinner. Prepare for a surprise from yours truly. _

_~Aveline'_ Her handwriting had always managed to put a smile on his face; he set it back down and dressed for the day's work, anticipating another of Aveline's delicious meals.

* * *

I was growing tired of the colonies. Sometimes the morning was warm, sometimes it was cold. Maybe it rained, maybe it didn't. Back in my homeland, the weather stayed constant and steady. I could depend on it to stay the same, no matter the day, no matter the time of year. I enjoyed stability and order, not unpredictability and ensuing chaos.

Why was I even here? Was I waiting for someone? Something exciting to happen? The war was over; the Redcoats were leaving in record numbers, and the colonists were rejoicing over their liberation from the crown. I was interested to see how their new government would come to fruition, though I doubt they'd impose taxes so soon. That would be a most unwise decision.

Boston harbor was not very fascinating; the allure of the townspeople had grown dull and the temptations of gambling were merely a waste of time.

As I decided that it was time to ride for my next destination, something bright caught my eye. Not quite the color of the surrounding trees, but in no way resembling the blades of grass beneath my feet. I searched for it desperately; it was maddening that I had lost it so quickly.

_There _I told myself. It was a garment the shade of emerald—the dress of a woman, to be exact. She moved through the crowds with such grace, I couldn't keep my eyes away from her fluid gait. I could not yet see her face, but I was certain that it was lovely.

Finally, she emerged, not bothering to cast a glance in my direction.

_Absolutely beautiful_ I remarked silently, admiring the golden brown charm that was her skin. Her clothing allowed me—as well as others, to my dismay—to admire the valley between her breasts.

As if she could sense that I was watching her, her head tilted up from the fruit stand, and her eyes landed directly on mine.

I was smitten.

And she _would_ be mine.

* * *

**Dadaduuuun! Who's this mysterious character at the end? Not to worry, there are no OCs, unless they're minor characters to fill in the gaps. Once again, I apologize for the late update; I was feeling discouraged and I experienced the loss of a good friend of mine. But I'm back now.**

**Connor seems to be moving full speed ahead with their relationship, huh? He's already thinking of marriage and children, and Aveline is so stuck on herself. She's been wanting to find her mother for years, so of course she's not as in-tune in their courtship, plus she has to deal with possible forced retirement. Not good at all.**

**I will try to update within a week, as well as work on updating my Resident Evil stories. I stated it in my Connorline short story, but I'll say it again: I'll be taking longer with RE updates because they'll be 6-9,000 words long, meaning less chapters with more substance so I can finish them and move on to my projects I have planned. **

**Thanks for reading and for all of your support.**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Chapter 10's support was amazing! I thought it'd have gotten passed on again; it felt a little dry to me. Well, here's more fluff and complications as the majority have asked for.**

**Also: Hey guys! Thanks for all of your support! This chapter introduces a new arc to the story, and a very complicated one, at that.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Ubisoft, so please don't sue.**

* * *

**Deviancy**

The beautiful young woman refused to look in my direction; it was as if she knew I wanted her attention. I was not one to easily be ignored.

So after smoothing my hair and dusting off my coat, I calmly made my way over to her, avoiding the cross traffic as best as I could. The crowds smelled so rancid; I don't think these cretins even bathed on a regular basis. But I'm sure that _she_ smelled heavenly.

She was at the vegetable stand now, examining the tomatoes one by one; I could hear her humming softly to herself. A pleasant smile graced her face, making her appear as if made of refined gold. Here I was, speaking poetry to myself about a woman I knew nothing about, but wanted to know everything about her.

"Are you going to keep staring at me, or are you going to finally introduce yourself, monsieur?" she asked. My, her voice was lovelier than I had previously assumed. And she had a French accent; very exotic and alluring, indeed.

"I will give you my name if you give yours first," I tried. I was a gentleman; she was most definitely a lady, and ladies always went first.

"I was perfectly fine without even knowing you existed, yet you want privilege to knowing more about me than I you?" she inquired. Oh, she was a playful little minx, so unlike the other women I had been with.

"You are perfectly right, madame, but you could have chosen to ignore me even if I had greeted you." She paused in her browsing and I felt a sense of accomplishment; I had her right where I wanted her.

"That wouldn't be very ladylike of me, would it?" she asked, casting a glance my way. I took my chances and stepped closer to her, though the fruit stand still separated us. Her allure was magnetic, the mystery in her eyes compelling me to keep pursuing her. I had never felt so burned by emotion in such a long time.

"Of course not, but I'd never doubt your etiquette. It's as radiant as your beauty." Her green eyes leveled with mine; I felt a chill travel down my spine. I felt...exposed, like all of my clothes, my skin had been peeled from my body and she was examining me closely from head to toe. I was interested to know how this was going to play out.

"Merci, monsieur. You're too kind with your words. If you'll excuse me, I must be on my way," she curtsied, and swished away. My mind instantly turned to panic, and I was unsure as to what to do. I still hadn't acquired her name.

"Madame, will you be needing any assistance with your purchases?" I nearly blurted out as I followed close by. My, I had never been so out of character before. I sure do hope she's worth all this foolery and awkwardness.

She turned to me, hesitating once again. "Non, monsieur. I will be fine." I decided to let her go after that; no need to agitate her with my constant pestering, only to have her never return to the marketplace.

To follow or not to follow, however, was my next question.

* * *

"Connor, you've yet to tell me why you're so..different now."

"What do you mean 'different'?" he asked, hoisting the long beam onto his shoulder. It turned out to be a hot day; he had already gone to the river for water several times and it was not yet midday. The other workers were sluggish in their movements, stopping to wipe their foreheads or remove their shirts to escape laboring in wet clothing.

Aveline had been gone a few hours, but he knew that she had gone to town for more food for their dinner that night. He looked forward to it and even found himself wishing that evening would come already.

"Different, as in...happier."

"Dobby, I am always this way. Whatever changes you thought you have seen are in your mind." They continued to hoist the wood up the hill, towards Dr. White's new location.

"No, Connor. You're lying to yourself, now. You smile when you think no one's lookin', your eyes are always fixed on the manor, and you even walk like you're skippin' almost. Have you finally found yourself a woman to calm you down?" she asked.

They finally reached the building site, and he set the log down, wiping his brow. "It is comforting to know that after all these years, that there is someone I share a bond with in many ways."

"Oh?" his friend seemed interested, stepping closer. "Well, tell me then. What bond?"

Connor started to say something, then closed his mouth, as if he were embarrassed. "I cannot explain, but we are similar in ways that have changed how I feel."

The older woman noticed the flush growing in his cheeks; she knew exactly what that meant. "You've a fancy for her, eh? Attaboy, Connor."

"We have not...done anything," he muttered, turning a deeper shade of red.

"Is that wrong? Do you want to do something with her?" she asked, smirking.

"Yes...I mean, no, not in that way...Dobby, you are twisting my words," he pointed his finger at her.

The Scottish woman chuckled, smacking him playfully on the arm. "Relax, Connor. You're as red as a tomato. Eventually, you'd end up doing a lot more with her if you decide to marry her. That's your goal, right?"

The Assassin glared at her, then picked up a beam. After seeing him struggle for a moment, Dobby stepped in to help him. "I do intend to court her to know for certain."

* * *

I had never been approached so directly in my life. But he was quite the gentleman, so unlike the fools back home.

I didn't want to look at him much, if at all. I didn't want him to think I was interested in him, but the little that I saw wasn't disappointing. He was a handsome man, older than me, but not at death's door. What he wanted with me, I don't know, but I had given up on the interest of suitors a long time ago.

I almost gave him my name just so that he'd leave me alone, but I wanted to see how patient he would be. To my surprise, he didn't curse me or wait to corner me in an alley to have his way with me. I respected him already.

After buying exactly what I needed for dinner that evening, I headed home, thinking of Connor. Whenever his face appeared in my mind, I felt my heart beating loud and fast. Mon Dieu, I had never felt this way before. It scared me. But it was refreshing, feeling the desire to explore this...connection I felt to him.

I won't be quick to call it love, because that emotion is like a fire in a hearth. It must start off small and slowly build with time. But I have heard of men and women falling in love at first sight. It had always been a myth to me, but I'm starting to think it reality. When I first met Connor, I knew something was different. I looked into his eyes, and I saw the same thing in them as I saw in my own as I looked at my reflection in the mirror.

Disappointment. Frustration. Confusion. Loneliness. Despair. I had never been able to sense all of those emotions at once; they were either scorn, jealousy, or outright hatred, and sometimes a combination of all three.

If I had my mother, I would've easily taken my concerns to her. She had been in love once, I'm assuming; my father spoke of her often and described her as if her very presence gave him life. He loved her deeply, more than my stepmother, the witch.

The brief walk from town back to the manor was quite refreshing; the midday sun was blazing high in the sky and I found my back perspiring with each passing moment. I looked forward to having a nice tall glass of water when I reached the manor. But first, I wanted to see the progress on Dr. White's new building.

The woods opened up to the clearing where he had chosen to build, and from what I could see, they had already started on the frame of the house. There were a few men standing around, trying to escape the sun, and some were hammering and clearing away rocks and debris.

Then I saw Connor—

And a woman I had never seen before. I stopped dead in my tracks, and watched them interact. My heart wrenched with anxiety as she reached out and touched his arm. He smiled and said something that made her laugh. He had never smiled so openly with me. I turned away from them, refusing to believe what I had just seen. They were just friends. Friends tell jokes and enjoy each other's company.

Calmly and quickly, I headed towards the manor, suddenly self-conscious of my attire. Instead of wearing a dress, I should have been in pants and a raggedy shirt, helping them build Dr. White's new facility, not prancing through the town like a common housewife.

As I climbed the hill, my injured side reminded me exactly why I wasn't out there lifting wooden beams and hammering planks together. I was ready to be myself again; I wanted to spread my wings and fly once more. I needed to keep trying—

With or without Connor at my side.

* * *

In the few months that Achilles had been sharing his home with the young woman, he had never seen her act so strangely. Her brows were knitted in deep concentration and she was constantly looking out the window, as if waiting for someone while she prepared dinner.

The old man knew her feelings for Connor were starting to blossom, and the same for the young man, but this anxiety seemed different. Worrisome. Fearful. Uncertain.

"Is everything alright, Aveline?" he asked, setting foot in the kitchen. His true intention was to check on her, but the delicious smell had drawn him, as well.

Her focus turned to him and the stern look on her face was replaced with a happier disposition. "Non, not at all, Achilles. I'm just...thinking."

"About? Connor?"

Her face flushed, yet her forehead began to crease as she contemplated her next words. "Oui...and non. I...have a question to ask."

"Go on, then."

_I feel like such a child for doing this_ she told herself. "Has he ever shown...interest in any other woman?"

Achilles' brows touched his hairline and then he began to chuckle. "No. That boy is clueless as to the more intimate details of life. The entire time he's lived here, he's always focused on his training. He claims to never have time to invest in a woman."

She sighed, stirring the contents of the cauldron. "I see...then what am I to him?"

"I believe that his time will be well spent in your company, though I am against fraternizing in the Brotherhood. If it is serious, then I will have nothing to say. But Connor has never been one to play games or to be dishonest to any extent, so for a part of his attention to be given to you—only one conclusion can be drawn." He gave her a knowing look and smiled briefly just as the subject of their conversation came in through the door, panting and covered in sweat.

"Achilles, we need another hammer," he breathed.

"You'll have to look for it; I haven't seen it since we rebuilt the balcony." Aveline smoothed out her skirts, waiting for him to acknowledge her, but he ignored her and disappeared further into the manor. Frowning, she headed for the kitchen to prepare dinner. _He's just really occupied with building Dr. White's new clinic_ she reminded herself, taking out the knife and setting a few vegetables on the counter top. Humming softly, she washed them one by one as she heard Connor's heavy footsteps thud from room to room in search for the tool.

Finally, he came into the kitchen and started rummaging through the cabinets; she watched him out of the corner of her eye, noting the long, thin scar on his bare back. Still, he said nothing, as if she weren't standing there.

She continued to cut, sighing softly. Suddenly, his arm brushed against hers and she tingled all over. "Here it is," he mumbled, snatching up the hammer and heading right back out the door with a loud slam.

Aveline paused for a moment, staring hard at the knife in her hand.

_He's just preoccupied._ And she resumed cutting in silence.

* * *

"We can't find it."

"What do you mean you can't find it? I've given you several weeks to find it!" he growled. He wasn't one to lose his temper, but he had given them ample time to find what he was looking for.

"This land is rough on the men, and two have lost either an arm or a leg fighting off the bears. They don't want to go out into the woods."

"Are you telling me they're afraid?" he scoffed. "Perhaps we should send them back to their mothers since I hired whining infants and not grown men. I guess if I want something to be done quickly, I'll have to do it myself."

"Very true, sir. About the woman—should we continue to look for her?"

An image of the lady in the green dress with the striking eyes appeared in his mind, and he smirked. "No. If she lives nearby, I'm certain she'll return to the city soon enough."

"If you don't mind my asking, sir, why her? There are plenty of other fine young women here in the colonies."

"Because she is different. Because she's not like the other women here." His eyes focused on the city before him, then he looked at his second in command. "In actuality, she is very special, and I cannot have any other."

* * *

Aveline pushed any and all doubt out of her mind; he wasn't a dishonest man.

_But you've only known him a few months, fille. And several of them were by letter. He could be fooling you, pulling you along until you give in._

If what she observed was correct and not just an act, then Connor was not flirtatious or a man without morals.

_But he was flirting with that woman earlier; she was smiling and laughing at whatever he said. Friends aren't that...touchy with each other, either._ He had never made it a point to touch her out of affection; if anything, when she did take the initiative to do something she herself had never done, he withdrew from her as if she had the plague. But with the other woman, he felt free to touch her, tap her arm in a playful manner, and allowed her to do the same.

_Obviously, the friend holds more value to him than you. _But if that were the case, then would he not have waited at her bedside every day, waiting for her to awaken? Would he have written her every chance he received while he was away?

Sighing, Aveline stopped stirring the pot of thick soup and set the ladle aside; she didn't know what to think. She was lost, more disillusioned than she had ever been in her life. Maybe this was so because she had never felt such a strange tide of emotions for any one person.

The thought of him casting her aside and kindling a serious relationship with another unsettled her greatly, and she no longer had the desire to eat; the anxiety and worry turned her stomach to rot.

Quietly, she took her leave out of the kitchen, up the stairs, and promptly closed her bedroom door behind her.

* * *

They had made fine progress on Dr. White's new building in a day's time; the foundation had been laid, the frame of the house was complete, and the furniture was in the process of being made.

The day was scorching, there were a few squabbles, and Connor was tired, but he felt like he had accomplished something. It couldn't have been done without the aid of his friends; he thanked them many times before they all returned to their homes for the evening and he followed suit.

His growling midsection called his attention to his stomach and he remembered the dinner he and Aveline were supposed to have that day. A warm smile crept onto his face as he made his way up the hill to the manor; he looked forward to it being just the two of them again. Perhaps they could sail the waters near the harbor again, this time for a bit longer.

He was attempting to get her mind off of her injury, but her focus didn't seem to waver. He understood she wanted to be well again, as did he, but worrying about it unnecessarily would do her no good.

He wanted...he wanted to hold her hand, to hold her close to him, to whisper tender assurances to her, but he didn't know how. Affection was a long forgotten concept to him; it died within him along with his mother.

_At dinner, I will try to be more...open with my feelings for her_ he resolved, opening the door to the manor. A delectable smell wafted into the hallway just as Achilles came out of the dining area, picking his teeth.

"Aveline's soup was quite delicious; maybe she should do the cooking more often," the old man said, heading for his study. The younger Assassin followed, confused. Was she not waiting for him?

"Achilles, where is Aveline?" he asked.

He sat down, breathing a sigh of relief. "I haven't seen her since this afternoon. Maybe she's upstairs in her room, tending to something before your moonlight dinner."

The Native's face reddened. "We are simply sharing a meal and conversation. Nothing more."

"Ah, no need to be so formal and cryptic, boy. This is all a part of the courtship. You two need to get to know one another before anything serious happens. There's no shame in talking about the deeper wells of life."

"Such as?"

"Your pasts, your personal issues, the future you two want, children maybe?"

_Children. Me, a father?_ Connor snorted, a lopsided grin on his face. "I doubt we would talk about children so soon. We are not even married."

"You should know by now that women talk about babies from the time they're barely teenagers. I'm certain Aveline has given thought to the possibility of having children."

"As Assassins, we would not have time to raise a family and fulfill our duties at the same time."

"It's only something to think about; don't concern yourself with something so heavy so soon. You'd better go see what's keeping her. The soup will get cold fast." Connor nodded in understanding and headed up the stairs, hoping that she wasn't falling ill. He approached her door and knocked softly. When he didn't get a response, he opened the door and studied the body under the blankets. She was very still and her breaths were heavy; she had fallen asleep a while ago. He closed the door and returned downstairs, unaware that she was very much awake and had heard everything they talked about.

* * *

Early the next morning, Aveline rushed into the wash room, cleaned herself up, and headed for the town on her horse. She couldn't stay at the Homestead, not while that...that woman was stealing all of Connor's attention.

She felt like a fool, concerning herself with a man when she still hadn't found her mother. When was the last time she even attempted to look for Jeanne? It had been months since then. She might have been on a plantation far away, bent over under the harsh, unyielding sun, or even worse—dead.

Aveline tried not to think of the possibility, but she had to be realistic about it. Her mother was rebellious, resolute, or 'wild' as they would label her. They would whip her, beat her, _humiliate_ her into submission. She knew her mother wouldn't dare be taken alive only to live in chains which was worse than dying.

Pulling on the reins, the horse stopped, and she wiped away the tears that threatened to fall from her eyes. Life was beginning to be too much...

"What do we have here? A poor woman crying on the road," a gruff, accent-less voice said. Aveline looked up, noticed the navy blue coat and white pants and calmed, but only slightly. The colonist soldiers were allies of Connor's associates, but they still couldn't be trusted. "What's the matter, sweetheart? Can't find your way home?"

"No, I'm fine. I just...had something in my eye, is all," she muttered, watching him closely. His deep blue eyes were sharp and mischievous; she didn't know what to make of him. And he must have been trained to fight; his uniform barely fit his massive shoulders.

"No need to be bashful," he chuckled, rounding the horse. He snapped his fingers and several other men came out of the nearby surroundings. Aveline felt her heart drop; she had only her hidden blades, and she was in no condition to fight off five grown men. "We can help you find your way home, if you even have a home."

"I'll be fine on my own, monsieur. Merci, but I don't need your help."

"You hear that, boys? She speaks French; some of our allies are French." They all chuckled, and in the blink of an eye, he had snatched the reigns of her horse, keeping her in place. Aveline felt her heart drop into her stomach.

"Please, I don't want trouble," she pleaded. They laughed again, and he put his hand on the horn of her saddle.

"My boys and I aren't bringing trouble to you; we just want to get to know you a little better." His powerful hands grabbed her by her waist and she attempted to drive her hidden blade into his neck, but he was much too fast. Her wrist was locked in his grip, and he threw her to the ground on her injured side. She moaned loudly in pain as it coursed through her body like an intense, unrelenting heat. Her vision exploded into red dots as she was dragged to her feet. "No need to get mean, madame. We just want to be friends." He ran his hands through her curled hair and looked her up and down lustfully. "But obviously you want to make this harder than it should be." He gripped her injured side tightly, and she hissed. "You hear that, boys? She's just as wild as the other black ones." They all jeered as he dragged her away from the horse and into the forest.

"Please, I have money. I will pay you if you let me go," she begged. Her injury was searing with pain; upon looking down, she noticed that it was starting to seep blood, staining her emerald-colored dress. It hadn't healed properly after all this time.

He roughly turned her to him. "Ha! You're a runaway and a thief. I'll enjoy this." He pushed her hard, causing her to stumble backwards over her full skirts and trip over a boulder. Her head made contact with a hardened root that had grown on the surface of the ground and her vision doubled. The colonist leaned over her, smirking. "I guess we'd better get it while she's not fightin'. I'll go first."

Aveline wanted to say no, but her words wouldn't formulate on her tongue. Her eyes were heavy and her head lolled from side to side.

How could she go from being a deadly, lithe Assassin, to an injured, helpless damsel in distress?

Before the man could even lay a hand on her, he muttered, "What the—" And then she heard the sound of metal cutting through flesh, followed by a thud. Footsteps thundered all around her, and a gunshot ensued, followed by another thud in the grass.

"Wait! Please!" one of them screeched, before his voice caught in his throat and he hit the ground. The last two sounded like they were trying to run away, but another two gunshots resonated in the air before it fell dead silent.

"Oh my," her savior whispered. "They've hurt her." She couldn't see him, but his voice was very familiar. The sympathy in his voice was...sincere, warm, comforting.

"Please..." she gasped weakly, closing her eyes. He picked up her lithe body from the ground. "Who are you?"

"Haytham. Haytham Kenway."

* * *

**Aaaaaaaand there's your mystery man! Haytham Kenway is on the scene to steal Connor's woman! Why her and not some random woman from the colonies? That is for me to know and for you to find out.**

**Sorry for this overdue update; just started a new job, a lot of stuff outside that has been happening, but I hope to keep updating every 10 or so days to finish this story before May. I have another AC project or 2 I want to work on when this is done.**

**I apologize for the boringness of this chapter, but this is a build-up to the conflict that will definitely come to a head at the end of this story arc. I had planned on putting another canon character in this loop, but it'd be too much. Sorry Gerald...**

**Aveline is a little confused and lost (and a little Mary Sue-ish at the end with the need to be rescued, but she's injured and not feeling the Assassin spark) right now, so please forgive me for making her so...annoying. She likes Connor, but she was riding to town for what reason? It's obvious why. She doesn't know what she wants, so it's annoying me, and I wrote it. But not to worry, she'll be her normal self very soon.**

**Thanks for all the support, guys!**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:Thanks once again for hanging with me this far into the story! The arc only gets more serious and complicated from here on out.**

**Also: Not to worry; this is not a love triangle.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Ubisoft, so please don't sue.**

* * *

**House of Cards**

_**'My student continues to complain about headaches. They come in the middle of the night, and they last for hours. Nothing seems to cure them, and my student collapses from lack of sleep some days. I fear that this may have an effect on their performance in the future. Please do tell me if there is a remedy for such a bizarre occurrence.**_

_**~A.'**_

"Haytham...is a nice name...monsieur," she dragged out, fighting to stay conscious.

"Thank you. Please do keep talking. You had quite a nasty fall; sleeping would be an unwise decision." Aveline fought to piece her words together, but couldn't. "I'll simply keep asking you questions. Where are you from?"

"Louisianne. New Orleans."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-nine," she sighed, closing her eyes. Haytham exhaled quietly as he observed his surroundings. He could feel the cold, sticky wetness of her blood on his palm; she needed help very soon.

"What is your name?"

"Aveline. My father told me it means eagle in Latin. I don't think of myself as a bird, really. Do I look like a bird?"

"No, you're much more pleasant than a bird. Tell me, dear, why have you wandered so far away from home?"

"I'm visiting someone. A good friend."

"Do they live around here? I can't keep walking through this forest forever. You need help."

"I don't know where they live. J'ai sommeil (I'm sleepy)." Her eyes began to close and he shook her violently, startling her wide awake.

"You can't fall asleep. You hit your head rather hard."

Immediately, her green eyes filled with venom. "Don't shake me again," she warned. Her blind persistence made him chuckle and earned him another glare. "What's so funny?"

He adjusted his grip as he continued to walk towards town. "You remind me of a woman I once knew, is all. She had a fiery spirit," his gray-blue eyes fixed on her face, "similar to yours, Aveline. You're doing a splendid job of staying awake. Just a little longer and we'll get to work on that trouble spot of yours."

"I don't even feel it, monsieur...just...laissez-moi (let me go)." Haytham began to protest as they entered the town, but all she heard was muffled voices and the sound of seagulls fading into nothingness. The gray-blue sky faded to black and her mind ceased all thought.

* * *

_**'My student is exhibiting the same problem. I haven't found anything that works for the headaches. But there's also the concern over the lights. They appear very often, and it sends them into a panic. They think they're going blind, but the doctor assured us that nothing of the sort is happening. I will write more if the problem persists or if it changes over time.**_

**~A.'**

When Connor returned to the Homestead, he is met with bad news. Achilles sits him down, but it is not long before he is on his feet again.

"My father has returned to the colonies?!" he boomed. The wooden chair clattered noisily behind him. "How long has he been here?"

"Our most recent report came from the Assassins in Jamestown, which was three days ago. What he's doing there, I don't know, but if he has business here, then it does not bode well for us."

The Native was outdone; he inhaled slowly, coming to terms with the news. "What did the Assassin from Jamestown report?"

"Your father has killed several of our informants. He found them bound and gagged with their throats slit from ear to ear in a barn. One of the bureaus was raided late in the night, and another was burned down with four of our new recruits. He's becoming ruthless. Why the sudden interest in weakning our allies, I don't know, but he has to be tracked down and stopped." Achilles eyed his pupil carefully. "You know what that entails, Connor."

"Yes," he sighed in exasperation. His almost non-existent relationship with his father was a puzzling and very complex one, indeed. He hadn't laid eyes on him until he was fourteen years old―and he had tried to have him killed. "I know what it is I have to do."

"Good. I'll need you to ride to Boston harbor; Nathaniel James is arriving by boat."

"Nathaniel James?" he echoed, replacing his hood on his head.

"Yes. The Assassin from Jamestown. He's quite skilled in hand-to-hand combat. And when you return, please ask Aveline if she wouldn't mind preparing dinner tonight; her cooking is far more edible than mine."

_He is right about that_ Connor admitted to himself as he went out the front door. It wasn't until Achilles mentioned her that he remembered he hadn't seen her all day. As he hoisted himself up into the saddle of his horse, he recalled her being in the kitchen the morning before, but he hadn't even bothered checking on her after he woke up the next day. He was so occupied with helping Dr. White with his new office, everything around him seemed less significant. _But how could I forget about Aveline?_ He had promised to help her regain her skills as an Assassin, but here he was, failing miserably―and so soon.

_I will have to make it up to her somehow_ he thought, snapping the reigns and trotting down the road.

_We will have plenty of time in the future._

* * *

He didn't understand why Haytham wanted _this_ woman.

She was different from the rest, but he didn't know she was _this_ different. Her skin reminded him of the savages, but even they were a different color.

One of his brethren had laid down with one of _her_ kind and made this...person lying fast asleep on his master's bed. He wanted to be rid of her, throw her out into the streets, naked and humiliated. The clothes she wore were too elaborate for her kind.

Yet...he _saw_ why his master had chosen her. Her skin color aside, she was a pretty woman. Ripe, full lips, dark hair, pleasant features―something worthy of a painting, he supposed.

"I've returned from the apothecary, Charles," Haytham interrupted his wayward trance. He looked from his ally to the woman sleeping in his bed. "Mesmerized by our guest?"

"No," he shook his head and turned from her, whispering, "When you said different, I thought you meant she was a smart woman, not...not―"

"Colored?" he finished, setting the vial of clear liquid on the night stand. "Is there something wrong with that?"

"S-Sir, of course not, but...I thought you had satisfied your curiosity with the Assassin's mother."

Haytham's lips formed a thin line, and his forehead creased. "It was more than a curiosity, Charles. We had an understanding. I couldn't find that with any of the other women I had been with, and they all looked like us. Have you found the other Assassin yet?"

"No, sire. I believe he has fled Jamestown and is making his way north. Maybe he is in contact with the Assassins in Boston. He'll lead us right to them."

"That's good news, I suppose. The sooner we handle this, the better. I've spent years dealing with them. Their struggle will only end in failure."

Charles looked on as his master and ally fixed the blanket so that no cold air disturbed her slumber. When he wasn't shouting orders, cursing his dull-witted pawns, or raving mad, he was actually quite docile and composed, as if there were two Haythams. He had seen glimpses of his softer side on occasion, when his eyes fell upon a small child running in the street or he heard the sound of a crying infant. In the past, had he known better, the thought that his commander had sired a child and regretted not having the chance to experience parenthood firsthand.

"She'll be awake soon; have Rènald put something together," he ordered. At once, Charles departed and headed for the kitchen, leaving the two of them alone.

When Aveline came to, she opened her eyes slowly, the face before her fuzzy and undefined. "Haytham?" she asked, wiping her eyes.

"Yes. You passed out, after I told you not to, but I'm grateful to see you've awakened. How are you feeling?"

"Fine, I guess," she replied, sitting up. Immediately, she realized her dress had been replaced with an over-sized shirt and worn pants. "Where's my dress?"

"It was ruined by your blood, so I've sent it off to be cleaned."

"Monsieur, you shouldn't have," she protested, her eyes wrought with worry. "I will give you the appropriate funds for it."

"No need, dear. Don't fret over it, it's done. Tea?" he gestured to the tray with the porcelain white china set.

"Oui, I-I mean yes." He carefully poured a cup, dropped a sugar cube inside, stirred it, and handed it to her. "Merci."

"Now that you're fully awake, would you mind answering a question for me?" She nodded, and he continued, "Good. You mentioned that you're here visiting a friend. Do you've any idea where she lives?"

"No. The forests around here all look the same to me. Do you grow tired of my company so soon?" she asked with a smile.

"Of course not. I find it rather refreshing. There are nothing but men here." She chuckled softly, earning a small chortle from him. "Did you have that wound properly treated? It was infected."

She recalled the sting of alcohol the day it happened, but she wasn't sure what it was. "It was treated, but not correctly?"

"No. Wine is not the solution to every poison out there. The apothecary in the town procured something that will kill the foxglove for good." He grabbed the vial and showed it to her. "A woman like you shouldn't be getting pelted with arrows."

Aveline felt a tinge of nervousness as his blue-green eyes studied her, waiting for an explanation. She couldn't tell him she was an Assassin; she'd have to kill him. "Not all readily accept my kind. So it's no surprise they would resort to such barbaric gestures."

He seemed to be believing it and shook his head in disapproval. "Ignorant fools, they are. Now, I'm certain you're famished. How about something to settle your stomach?"

Aveline replied, "Yes, that would be nice." She started to peel the blankets off of her body, but he halted her progress, "Ah, ah, ah! You stay right there. No need to waste your energy getting out of bed. I'll be back." He promptly walked out of the room, and she followed him with her eyes until he could no longer be seen.

She studied the pattern in the finely threaded blanket on the bed, admiring the wine red and gold fabric. He was a charming older man―a true gentleman, she admitted.

But he seemed strangely familiar.

* * *

Connor had been waiting for about half an hour when he had decided that this Nathaniel James wasn't going to show up. Sighing, he started to return to his steed when he heard someone say, "Hello, brother," in a strong voice.

He turned to greet the man and studied his appearance. "You are Nathaniel."

"Yes. The one and only." Nathaniel stood eye to eye with him, but was slightly less bulky. His dark red hair was parted down the middle and fastened into a ponytail, and his eyes. Connor had thought that Aveline's eyes were green, but Nathaniel's were the same shade as the leaves of the evergreens surrounding the Homestead. "I've heard a lot about you."

"Really?" he asked, leading the way back to the stables. "What have you heard?"

"The new recruits said you were ten feet tall, but I knew better than that. I've also heard that you've slain a thousand Red Coats and Blue Coats alike." Connor grimaced; he had lost count a long time ago, and he wasn't proud of it.

"I hope I have not killed that many men. They were all someone's child, someone's husband or family member."

"Don't feel bad about it; when they signed up, took their uniform and rifle, they knew the risks that came with the job." The male Assassins mounted the horses and started off down the road. "It's understandable to have compassion, but these men are our enemies."

"We are enemies only because our ideals are different."

"True. But without differing opinions, what enjoyment could we gain out of life?"

"We would have peace. And that is enjoyable enough." Nathaniel hummed in deep thought, and the two fell into silence as they traveled deeper into the woods.

* * *

He made her uncomfortable.

His icy, cold blue eyes. His hardened, emotionless face. If tension were a scent, the room would reek of it.

He said nothing. He merely stood there, watching her closely. Every move she made, his eyes followed. His heated glare made her nauseous; she just wanted to get up and leave. Heaven forbid if he touched her; there was no telling what malcontent he was just waiting to do to her.

She was afraid to inquire about the whereabouts of Haytham, but she had to get away from this man. "Where is Haytham?" she asked.

"He'll be back shortly. An errand needed his attention."

"May I get up and stretch my legs? I've been in bed all day."

"No. You can't go anywhere."

Aveline had had enough. She ripped the blankets from off of her body and set her feet on the cold, wooden floor.

"What are you doing?" he asked, sounding quite alarmed.

"I'm getting up to stretch my legs."

"You can't get out of bed."

"Try and stop me," she growled defiantly. His icy blue eyes narrowed and he grabbed her by the arms, but she was like a cat: nimble and swift on her feet. She backed away quickly and sprinted for the door, only to be yanked back by the shirt.

"You need to stay in this room, you defiant animal!" he hissed. At that, Aveline whirled around to face him, taking him by surprise with the strength behind her hand smashing against his wrist. Before he could howl in pain, she had him pinned on the floor with his arm twisted painfully behind his back.

"Ne jamais m'appeler un animal sauvage, vous sac d'ordures (Never call me a wild animal again, you sack of filth)!" she muttered angrily in French. "How many ways shall I break your arm, monsieur? Two? Or maybe three?" She pulled on his twisted limb, causing him to groan loudly in pain, his face turning bright red.

"Your kind are nothing but devils, the lot of you!" he growled. Just before she could break his bone, Haytham's voice drifted through the walls and her grip slackened. He took the opportunity to get to his feet and cause her to stumble to the ground onto her back. The pain shot up from her spine to her wound and she yelped in pain.

"Aveline?" Haytham asked, a tinge of worry in his voice. He swung the door open wide and discovered her on the floor and Charles helping her to her feet. "She fell out of bed, sir," he said. She climbed back under the sheets, trying to calm the underlying fury in her heart.

Haytham looked from his ally to the woman; their body language was...odd. "Are you alright?"

"Oui."

"Maybe it's time we go for a walk, get some fresh air. I'll have a change of clothes sent to your room. Charles, you're relieved from your duty. You may go."

Both men left the room, and Aveline began to wonder how much Haytham had heard. She knew he was aware that they had been fighting moments before he opened the door, but why didn't he say anything? Was Charles going to be punished? She hoped so; he was an idiot.

How Haytham had gotten mixed up with such strange company was beyond her imagination.

* * *

He knew a woman's scent when it touched his nostrils. He knew the feel of their clothes, their skin, even their footsteps were delicate, light, hesitant.

A woman had recently been inside the old manor. She had to be around, he had heard rumors of a female Assassin from the South. He wanted to know if it was true. Apparently, it was, because the room he was standing in reeked of feminine perfume, and the clothes were decidedly for a woman.

Connor hadn't mentioned her; maybe she left and hadn't planned on returning, but she wouldn't leave her things behind. He didn't suspect that she had died; that too would've been a rumor.

He looked out the window at the Native as he worked. It was hard to believe that he was just a few years younger than him. He seemed to be quite mature about many things, but the childish side showed itself sometimes, in small moments when he thought no one could see. It was odd to see so many different people with different backgrounds working together under his command. 'Savages' as they were called in Jamestown, weren't received well by European colonists. Some were ridiculed, some were made fun of, and others weren't so fortunate to return to their homes alive.

Nathaniel had never been asked how he felt about them, or invited to 'teach them a lesson'. In fact, he kept quite to himself as a child, and even more so as an adult. He had never really cared to judge a man by his skin tone, but rather, by his character.

So this female Assassin was lurking around somewhere and he wanted to meet her. There were so few, if any, in the colonies. And to be honest, he wanted to know if she was worth pursuing. A woman who knew how to defend herself was all too enticing.

Once Connor had decided to let everyone go home after working on the doctor's new office, he approached him directly and asked, "I noticed women's clothing in a room upstairs in the manor; are we expecting another guest?"

"Aveline has been with us for the past five months. She is one of us, but she has not yet returned. I do not know where she is, but I am beginning to worry." If Nathaniel wasn't mistaken, he had _feelings_ for the female Assassin already. His eyes; they gave away all that he was feeling at the moment.

"Then maybe we should go look for her in the town. I doubt she would go out into the forest all by herself if she doesn't know the way back."

"That is a wise decision. We will leave as soon as we have checked all the rooms in the house." They returned to the manor and asked Achilles if he had seen her and said that he hadn't. They searched every room and even the basement, but to no avail. She was nowhere to be found.

"What does she look like?" Nathaniel asked once they reached town. The sun was beginning to set, and dusk was settling on the land. The businesses near the waterfront were beginning to close and the busy streets were starting to wind down as civilians began to retire to their homes for the evening.

"She is tall for a woman, she has black hair and green eyes," Connor replied, scanning the waning crowds.

'Sounds lovely,' he thought, looking for female faces. "Is she European?"

"No. She is colored, but not Native." The red-haired Assassin found himself imagining what she looked like; it was an unusual, but exotic combination. She would be very noticeable, in or out of a crowd. But no matter how hard he looked, he wasn't finding her.

"What was she wearing?"

"A green dress." Connor remembered it well, from the first day they met all those months ago.

He didn't know how to read her. But his eyes followed her wherever she went.

She had captured his attention unwillingly, and now she was claiming his heart.

But that same woman was nowhere to be found.

* * *

**I. Am. So. Sorry. For the late update. I just started a new job, March was hectic and full of deaths and parties and events that took up a lot of my free time. I'm hoping April will be different but we'll see.**

**So, our Assassins are split apart, Charles hates Aveline and vice versa, and Nathaniel has been introduced. He's 100% OC, not to worry, he's not a shady character, I can assure you, but his past is sad. I'll write more about it in the coming chapters.**

**I'd say more, but I can't think much right now. Um, thank you for being patient and I promise the next update will be much sooner than this one.**

**And I'm sorry if it was boring. I promise there'll be fluff in the chapters to come.**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: A big thank you to all who reviewed the last chapter and liked it!**

**Also: We'll start to see more tension and emotional blow-ups from this point on.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Ubisoft, so please don't sue.**

* * *

**Yearning for You**

When Connor returned home, he didn't know what to do. Achilles had taken it upon himself to cook dinner, but by the time the two young Assassins returned from their search for Aveline, it had grown cold and the old man was in his bedroom, sleeping.

Nathaniel hadn't spoken a word to him since they left Boston; there wasn't anything to say.

Aveline was missing, and he had no leads. No one had seen her leave, no one knew where she was going. She was _gone_.

"Connor, maybe you should eat something," Nathaniel suggested as he was making his way upstairs. The Native sent a blank stare his way, and the fairer one added, "You know, so you can sleep better. Maybe we missed her; she could've been inside a building or around a corner somewhere. There's no way she'd go back home without letting you or Achilles know."

"And that is what worries me; she did not inform us of anything. That could only mean that someone has her, or that she is dead." The last possibility turned his stomach to rot. He couldn't imagine her dead, not while he was alive.

"Don't think that way, Connor."

"How else should I think? The colonists are not kind towards people like me or her. She is an Assassin, but also a woman. And she does not know these lands." The red-haired Assassin started to say something, but fell silent; the Native was not going to listen to him.

"Just get some sleep and look for her again tomorrow. We'll find her." And at that, he was off to bed, leaving Connor alone. He clenched his fists tightly, feeling the leather of his gloves cut into his hands.

How could he be so careless? Why didn't he follow her? Why didn't he ask her where she was going? Any shred of information would've helped. He was beginning to grow frustrated with himself; he wanted to do so much, but he couldn't do anything. And that angered him.

Aveline was all alone and by herself.

* * *

It was too much.

She couldn't take it.

He was being too kind to her.

"Haytham, my dress didn't look like this when I ruined it; what have you done to it?" she asked, trying to hold back tears. He, a complete stranger, had done so much already.

"I had it...improved in some ways. I figured a little more attention could be given to the design." The silver buttons adorning the sleeves and bodice of the dress were replaced with gold, and the latticework on the back was made of silk rather than simple string. "And don't worry about the cost; someone owed me a favor."

Aveline turned to him, a big smile on her face. "Merci beaucoup. I will pay you back. I will," she vowed, taking his hands in hers.

The older gentleman chuckled, giving her hands a squeeze. "Call it a gift of sorts. I've never really had a chance to spoil anyone, so this was the perfect opportunity."

"But you're such a handsome...older man. You aren't married with children?" she asked.

Haytham drew in a deep breath and folded his arms behind his back. "Unfortunately, I've never had the time to settle down and invest my energy into starting a family."

"So you've...never fallen in love before?"

"...Yes. Yes, I have. She was very different from the other women I had met and spent time with. We were kindred souls, both tired and weary from living in this world."

"Why not settle down with her if it's not too late?"

"She...refuses to see me. I did something she will never approve of and we haven't spoken since."

"Oh...I'm sorry."

"No, don't be. It was settled a long time ago. How is your side?"

Aveline placed her hands carefully on her ribs. "I can barely feel the pain. What serum did the doctor give you?"

"It's a combination of cures that rid the body of poison. I'm glad to hear that it's healing; you could've been permanently crippled for life."

"Then I'm glad to have met you, Monsieur Haytham."

"Here's an idea, Aveline: I have some business to attend to, but while I'm doing that, go freshen yourself up in the washroom and get dressed. I have something I want to show you." He gave her small hand a pat and got to his feet, closing the door firmly behind him.

* * *

It had been a while since he'd doted on a woman, and had almost forgotten his procedure in sweeping her off of her feet. Thank goodness it seemed Aveline had been raised in an environment with education and privilege, otherwise, his words and gestures probably wouldn't have had value in her eyes.

She was a fine catch, he had to admit. And he thought about her constantly, though there was enough of an age distance, that she could possibly be his daughter. But that was not his main concern; his concern was finding the awful creature that had maimed her with that arrow. He equated such barbaric gestures with the ruffians in the city, the uncouth filth that scoured the streets at night. There were so many, with the war raging in the colonies and the misplaced and destitute becoming so many at an alarming rate. There was no use in trying to find the scoundrel, so he had no choice but to let it go.

The more pressing issue at hand was this threat of the resurgence of Assassin activity in the colonies, particularly in New York and Boston; Jamestown was a threat quelled, but if the reports were accurate, they were growing in numbers with each passing day. Even the local thieves and mercenaries were taking sides with his enemies. If he allowed this to continue, his brethren would be overrun and eventually overwhelmed.

He refused to let it happen. "Good day, brothers. I trust all is well?" Haytham asked before sitting down.

The others chimed in their responses, before Charles spoke, "We're awaiting your orders, sir."

"Good. Jamestown has been handled; their bureaus have been raided and destroyed as planned, and Boston and New York will be no different. Our Trojan horse is working quite well in our behalf. We'll have complete control of the colonies and no one to stop us."

"Sire, we've been hearing rumors of a savage dressed in an Assassin's uniform; they say he's been intercepting all of our messages and shutting down our smuggling operations. If he isn't taken care of, then he may become a serious threat."

"I've heard of him, Charles. I'm aware of what he's been doing; we don't have to fear anything. One man can only do so much, and this is a _boy_ you're talking about." Haytham got to his feet and looked out the window. "The old man broke his promise; he was not to carry on as an Assassin as long as he is alive. I'll see to it that he's punished for not holding up his end of the agreement, but first I must find out where he's hiding. It can't be too far from Boston, considering our men have been spotting Robert Faulkner's ship in its harbor from time to time."

"The savage commandeers it; he sinks our privateer ships almost every day, it's maddening!" one of Haytham's allies complained.

"Not to worry, old friend. I have a very elaborate plan for the boy. He thinks he will win this war all on his own, but we will outsmart and outwit him at every turn. This so-called Assassin threat will be over very soon."

* * *

Aveline was over the moon. She bathed not once, but twice, just so that Haytham wouldn't be offended by any smell or odor that may mar his view of her. Her hair hadn't been trimmed in a few months, so it fell to the middle of her back in loose curls, but she decided to braid the front and fasten it into a large bun at the base of her neck.

Haytham had inadvertently asked her out on a date. His voice was not difficult to distinguish from the others in conversation.

"...make sure no one will interrupt us..."

"...fresh roses for the vase on the balcony..."

"...cook something familiar to the French palate." Being pampered and doted on in such a way made her feel...well, special. The other suitors were not so chivalrous, nor as generous with their time. They were always so busy with their companies and their god-forsaken slave trading; it inwardly disgusted her, the way they described her people as animals belonging in pens and in cages rather than be free to live and prosper the way they did. She was actually glad none of the French 'gentleman' that called on her quickly lost interest.

She slipped on her favorite green dress in front of the mirror, admiring the fact that her womanly curves had finally returned, and the arrow wound was healing quicker than ever before with a simple serum.

Once she was completely ready, she stepped out of Haytham's room and into the hallway, only to run into his right hand man, Charles. He was startled by her sparkling exterior, but quickly changed his countenance to indifference. "Master Haytham is waiting for you on the balcony. I'll escort you to him." Quietly, she nodded her head and followed a few paces behind him, admiring the Renaissance paintings on the pewter-colored walls.

The hall ended and exploded into a grand study with a library of books from floor to ceiling on either side, and a finely crafted table with a few scattered papers directly in the center.

"He's right outside." Aveline curtsied slightly, and thought to tease or taunt him, but something was different about his disposition towards her. Maybe Haytham had pulled him aside and talked to him about his behavior earlier that day. If that were the case, she was relieved; she wasn't sure if she'd be up to beating an old man silly in her best dress.

Licking her lips, she walked towards Haytham slowly, trying to keep herself from grinning like a madwoman. This was the most attention she had ever received from a man ever in her life, other than her father. Haytham was a genteman, a man she'd readily give her attention to.

The moment he noticed her, he got to his feet and pulled back the chair on the opposite side of the table. He had removed his hat, revealing his hair that was mostly gray fastened into a ponytail. "That dress is beautiful on you, Aveline. Gaspard did a fine job on the tailoring."

The young woman tried her best not to blush as she lowered her head, avoiding his gaze like the plague. "Thank you. You made it beautiful with the extra details you insisted be added to the dress."

"You are correct, but that dress doesn't compare to the beauty that you already possess. Please sit." She did as he requested, allowing him to position the chair before he sat in his own. They were so close to one another, she hadn't noticed until she noticed that his eyes weren't brown, but in fact, medium blue with gold flecks near their center. "So, I'm sure you've gathered that this is a private dinner between you and I; I hope this isn't too soon for your tastes."

"Of course not, Monsieur Haytham. It is proper for friends to dine together, even if they have just met."

"Good. I had Renald prepare something special for you and I. It may be something quite familiar to you." As if on cue, the cook came out with two covered plates and set them on the table.

"Bon appetit, madamoiselle et jeunehomme," he said with a kind smile, unveiling their meal for the evening. Aveline had to chuckle; brioche stuffing with capers, blood orange relish and lamb with au jus to pour on the side.

"Haytham, you are too kind. There must be something I can do to repay you."

"Simply enjoy yourself, dear. Now let's eat; wouldn't want the food to get cold." He picked up his fork and immediately began eating, and Aveline did the same.

* * *

"Achilles, it's been almost two full days since we last saw her; something must have happened to her."

"Have you checked the other Assassin bureaus in Boston?"

"Yes. We've checked the warehouses, the docks, the convenience stores, the woodshops, the inns...and she's nowhere to be found," Nathaniel said, propping his feet up on the desk.

"Feet off the table," the old man warned, and the younger did as he asked immediately. He circled the room, his lips in a thin line. "Well, I hate to say this, but Aveline is missing. And we haven't a clue as to where she has gone, so we must consider the possibility of the Templars having captured her."

Connor clenched his fists, glaring hard at the knife on the table. "My father may be holding her against her will. They could be torturing her for information about the Homestead."

"Or she could have just lost her way; you have to crawl before you walk, Connor. We will think the worst when all other possibilities are dismissed."

"All other possibilities _have_ been dismissed!" Connor growled, pounding his fist on the table. "My father has her! We have to find him and get her back."

"Calm down, Connor," his mentor cautioned him, sending a glare his way. "When a bull rages forward, there is nothing but destruction. We must proceed with caution; we're still uncertain as to why your father has suddenly appeared in the colonies, so if he catches wind of your search for Aveline, he may do what you fear the most."

The big Native got to his feet and stormed out of the study, nearly ripping open the front door as he struggled to breathe in the cool night air.

He didn't know what to do. The one woman he had ever paid attention to was missing. The one woman whose smile made his heart dance like the petals of the water lily. The one woman whom he was beginning to care deeply for.

_You already care deeply for her. One might even call it love._ His muscles tensed at the thought, and he stared up at the starry night sky. He had never considered that emotion; such a feeling didn't seem possible after what happened all those years ago.

Yet he found himself thinking of her every lingering moment, he longed to touch her, to hold her, to comfort her―he wanted to do all that he refused to do when she was there, close by yet so far away. He didn't want to scare her off with his attempt at affection; she was a gentle doe that he wanted to draw into his heart.

"I know you care deeply about her, but you have to be patient, wait for something to surface," Achilles' wisened voice told him. "Her mentor, Agaté, entrusted me with her safety and well-being, so I am just as worried as you are. But anxiety does not add to your life; it eats away at it."

Connor sighed, closing his eyes. "Achilles, I...my feelings for her have changed."

"Oh? You're no longer the lovesick puppy following her around everywhere she goes?"

The younger man made a face in the moonlight. "I was never that way. I feel like...I would die if she were to get hurt because of my negligence."

"Hm. So this is more than lust. It sounds like you're beginning to know what it's like to love someone from the heart."

"But...I do not know if she will accept me after all that has happened; I ignored her, I made a promise that I did not keep."

"The only thing you can do is hope that she's willing to forgive you. And that is something only time can tell."

* * *

Aveline had never eaten so much in her life; Haytham insisted that she not fret over the amount of food that she consumed. But he was thoroughly surprised as to how much she had eaten.

"My mother always did tell me to appreciate a woman with a healthy appetite."

His female companion gave him a shy smile, wiping her mouth with her napkin. "Your mother was a sensible woman. Not all of us can survive on just water and bread every day."

"Surely that's not what you were fed when you were with your friend," he said in disbelief.

"Of course not. We had venison soup on occasion, roasted quail, baked chicken. The old man loves my cooking, so I took it upon myself to prepare the meals for each night." She remembered Achilles' face when he tasted her lentil soup; his expression was one to remember always.

Then her mind turned to Connor and a flood of emotions entered her heart: glee, anxiety, and ultimately, longing. It seemed like it had been ages since she had thought of him, and now she was feeling quite guilty. She had disappeared from the Homestead in anger, confusion, and under the pretense of negating hurt feelings. That woman with the impressive bust―she couldn't recall her name. Not much of a looker though; she reminded her of a teenage boy. Whether out of jealousy or simple truth, she didn't seem to be the sort Connor would fancy.

_I'd rather he fancy me_ she thought admittedly.

"Are you alright, dear?" Haytham asked, interrupting her thoughts. Aveline mildly shook her head, smiling, "Yes, I'm fine." But inside, her heart was aching.

She _missed_ Connor, and Haytham could tell that she wasn't being honest. "Now that we've finished dinner, perhaps it's time to retire for the evening, hm?"

"Yes," she answered too quickly, getting to her feet. "I'm sorry if I sound like I'm rushing to get away from you―"

"No, I understand. You're still a little tired from your encounter yesterday. Every woman needs their beauty rest." He got to his feet and laced his arm around hers as he led her to her room. "We'll spend more time together tomorrow, once I'm finished with my business affairs. So make sure to rest well tonight."

"I will, Haytham. I promise." They stopped in front of her door, and he let her arm go.

"Good night, Lady Aveline." He took her hand and kissed it gently, causing her face to flush and turn bright red under her copper skin tone.

"Bonne nuit, Monsieur Haytham." With a smile and a small bow, he left her alone to enter her room.

Sighing, she sat on the edge of the bed, tracing her fingers over the diamond patterns in the blanket. She had no idea where she was, nor if anyone was looking for her―or if anyone even missed her.

_Connor wouldn't forget about me. But...he was able to walk right past me and not say a word..._ Despite how unsettled she was feeling, she still longed for his presence, to feel the heat emanating from his body whenever he was close by.

Kicking off her shoes, she laid down on the bed, trying to push out all the thoughts racing through her mind so that she could rest easily.

But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop thinking about Connor.

* * *

"Is everything in place?"

"Yes sir. We have the men in position as we speak. All we need is your command to take action."

"Good. They'll never see this coming. Their forces will be scattered throughout the city, and there'll be so much chaos, they won't know what to fix first. And while they scramble to maintain peace, we will strike."

"Haytham, can we be so sure they'll fall for this plan? The old man knows our methods and plans just as well as their own."

"Let me handle Achilles. He will learn not to cross the Templars."

* * *

Aveline had tossed and turned most of the night; she kept thinking about him.

Connor. His golden brown, piercing eyes. His sleek, thick raven hair. The sense of security she felt the only time they had shared an embrace. She missed it all.

Quietly, she kicked off the blankets and slipped on her boots. When she twisted and pulled the knob, the door opened silently, and she tip-toed down the corridor to the front door. The floorboards remained mute under her lithe form as unlocked the door and stepped outside.

She was free to go, with the dawn slowly beginning to make its way east as she walked further and further away from the mansion.

Looking back at the newly built estate, _Thank you, Haytham_ she thought, turning away to face the road ahead of her. She didn't know where she was going; her surroundings all seemed to be the same: lush evergreens all around her, and what ground lay bare was shrouded by thick brush and wildflowers. In whichever direction she was headed, she hoped it carried her closer to Boston, to the Homestead.

And to him.

* * *

Nathaniel had never seen such a beautiful woman in his life. Not only was she smart, but she had a sense of humor, as well.

He had only seen her a few times around the Homestead, but each time, he learned something new about her. Her name was Rachel, she was just twenty years old, and she was staying with family up north after having left the Louisiana Territory. She was a brave young woman for traveling so far alone―and without getting caught and have something horrible done to her.

He wanted to talk to her, let her know he existed, but something kept holding him back.

He was afraid he was going to lose her. Again. He couldn't bear losing her a second time; he couldn't endure another heart break.

So he neglected speaking to the young woman with high cheekbones and bright eyes until they stumbled into one another―quite literally. She was carrying a pile of logs back to her family's cabin and thus couldn't see over the top of them and collided right into Nathaniel, who had been reading a book about the wiles of the softer sex.

"I'm so sorry, mister. I didn't see you," she said. When the Assassin heard her speak for the first time, he thought he had heard heaven's calling. Her tone was rich, sultry, and demanded attention.

"It's alright; let me help you." He created a small pile, and reached for the same block of wood as her, causing their hands to come into definite contact. Immediately, he tingled all over; looking up, he found himself gazing into twin pools of smelted gold. "Your name is Rachel, right?"

"How do you know that?" she asked, more curious than scared.

His face heated; here he was, acting like a ten year-old boy! "I've...heard your uncle calling your name sometimes."

"Rachel!" he called out as if on cue, and they both laughed.

"I guess you're telling the truth. mister." She gathered up the firewood and started to walk away. "Thank you for your help. I'll let you get back to your reading. What's your name?"

"Nathaniel," he answered eagerly.

"It's a nice name...Nate." She scrunched her nose, and he felt something in his chest collapse. Dear lord, she was going to have him begging on his knees like a dog any moment.

After she disappeared, he found himself still thinking about how soft her hand was, or how calming her voice had become on his nerves.

But most of all, he noticed the stark difference in the tone of their skin.

* * *

Aveline felt like she was floating―no, flying through the wilds of the colonies. The trees below were a never-ending sea of green, the mists of the ocean coloring the sky a medium shade of mauve before it spilled into its robin egg blue hue.

She wasn't afraid of falling to her death. It was just her soaring through the air.

Then, Connor suddenly appeared, having manifested behind a cloud, and suddenly, they were descending to the earth, gently setting foot on the crisp grass.

"Aveline," he said. His eyes were brighter than ever before, and he stood before her in his captain's outfit, pressed and pristine. "Come with me." He extended his hand and she took it. Instead of leading her to their destination, he took her into his arms and held her like he had never held her before. "I love you." Connor inclined his head, and just before they made contact, the dream ended with her being lightly shaken and roused from sleep.

Slowly, she opened her eyes, adjusting to the mid-morning light before focusing on the face hovering above hers, looking down at her with a warm smile. The female Assassin blinked a few more times, clearing her vision before his face came into full focus.

She had never seen him before, so the contrast between his eyes and hair sent the impulse to run into her muscles. "You're finally awake―"

"Help!" she screamed, squirming in his arms. His face dropped as he attempted to explain.

"Wait a moment―" he tried to get out as he struggled to hold onto her. "Calm down!"

"Get away from me, you lecher!" she protested, sending her palm flat into the side of his face, pushing it away. He stumbled and lost his footing, sending the both of them toppling to the floor.

"I'm not a lecher!" he corrected, trying to help her right herself.

"Liar!" she hissed, slapping his hands away before she reached for his neck. He attempted to release her hold, but couldn't pry her little fingers from around his windpipe. His eyes widened almost to a comedic size as his mouth gaped open for air.

"Aveline!" a voice warned. She let go immediately and looked up at the source of the voice; it was Achilles. Dumbfounded, she immediately let the red-headed man go and he started coughing, struggling to regain his breath. "He is one of us."

She turned to the man on the ground and helped him sit up, saying over and over again, "I'm so sorry, monsieur! Are you alright?"

His face slowly started to fade from bright red to its normal ivory hue. "I'm fine; I feel sorry for the man who makes you upset." He studied her face for a moment, admiring her beauty. "You must be Aveline. Connor was worried sick about you; he didn't sleep last night, or the night before."

"What he says is true, Aveline. But we've all missed you, so it's good to see you're alive and well."

"Where is Connor?" she asked. Her heart was fluttering in her chest like a certain winged creature.

"He's still working on Dr. White's new office; he and Deborah are working on the perimeter fence." The moment he said her name, the flitting sensation ceased, and she remembered why she had stepped off the Homestead lands. He seemed to appreciate this Deobrah woman's company a lot more than hers, considering he worked with her for hours out of the day while she did nothing but sit. "They should be done later on this afternoon. But you should go up to your room and rest; you walked all the way here from wherever you were staying, which I'll inquire about after you've rested. Now off you go. You'll get acquainted with Nathaniel later."

She nodded a few times, and headed for the stairs, all the while wondering how she was going to face Connor after having disappeared. She wanted him to worry, to fret over her, but she didn't want him to be losing sleep.

Yet, how was she going to address Deborah? Just ask outright what the nature of their relationship was to him? Or try to feign interest in becoming her friend to know more about her dealings with Connor?

_I'll just have to open that door when I get to it; for now, I need to lie down..._she thought, kicking off her shoes and getting situated on her side on the bed. She stared hard at the wooden paneling on the walls until her vision started to blur, and eventually fade into darkness.

* * *

It had been a long, difficult day; there were so many bears surrounding Dr. White's new facility, and Connor didn't want to hurt any of them. There were three cubs and a mother bear in a cave just downwind from his rear door. If he stayed out of their way and vice versa, then the doctor would have nothing to worry about, but he couldn't risk anything happening to the only doctor available within close proximity of the Homestead. So he lured the mother away with fresh lamb meat, deeper into the forest and hoped they would find another cave after he filled the other with stones. Doing so pushed his work well into the evening.

After letting everyone return home for the night, he walked up the path to the manor in silence, his muscles aching, the skin on his arms itching from the rough undergrowth rubbing against his skin. A long soak in the tub would do him some good.

Once inside the large house, he checked the study for Achilles, and there he was, reading another book with his glasses perched on the tip of his nose.

"How was today's project?" he asked without looking up.

"Productive. I trust we'll be done with the first level within a week."

"Sounds like good news. If you want to wash up, then the bath should be free."

"Thank you." He didn't bother to ask about Nathaniel; he knew where he was: with Rachel. It was interesting to see his cool demeanor suddenly change when she was around, to see him fret with his ponytail and the fringes of his Assassin uniform.

Once he was in the wash room, he poured in the remaining warm water and immersed himself, not moving for nearly half an hour before he decided to get out. Half dressed, he headed for his room, when he realized that a light was on in Aveline's room. Surely it wasn't his eyes playing tricks on him.

Connor moved to her door, twisted the knob slowly and pushed open the door; his eyes fell on the back of a woman dressed in fitted trousers and a loose, sleeveless blouse. "Aveline?" he asked.

Her body tensed at the sound of his voice. "Yes, Connor?"

Her sweet, rich tone made his heart skip a beat, and he closed the door to allow them some privacy. "You're back."

"Yes, I am."

"Where have you been?"

"Away."

"I am aware, but where did you go?"

"Why does it matter to you?" she asked. His throat clenched at the sudden change in her tone; it sounded hostile, angry even.

"Because I was concerned."

She chuckled. "I don't need your false sympathy, Connor."

"What do you mean? Speak sense."

"You don't care about me; you didn't even bother to say hello the last time we were around one another. You were so occupied with getting back to your other lady friend," she spat.

"What?" he asked, confused, stepping closer.

"Your friend, Deborah. It's obvious she means a lot more to you than me."

"That is not true, Aveline," he defended, taking another step closer.

"Don't lie to me!" she hissed. He grabbed her shoulders and she ripped her body away. "Don't touch me!" This time, he forcefully snatched her into his grasp and turned her around to face him.

"I have never spoken untruth with you. And Dobby is just a friend."

"You certainly don't treat her like it; you laugh and smile with her, you even let her touch you. At least the man who took care of me in my absence actually paid attention to me. He cared about me, even though we were perfect strangers. He even gave me the correct cure for the poison; I can barely feel the pain now. You're selfish! You care about no one but yourself!" she yelled, tears in her eyes.

Suddenly, something in Connor snapped, and he found himself pinning her between the wall and his body. Her chest was flush against his own, the heat from her body mixed with the wildflower scent in her hair. Her eyes widened with fear as he leaned in close, his lips just a breath away from hers. "I may be oblivious at times, I may even be impulsive and hard-headed, but one thing I am _not_is selfish!" he growled in a voice that made her shiver. "I spend hours, days, sometimes weeks, caring for the people on this piece of land. If I were so selfish, would not I have sent them all away? I spent hours at your bedside, waiting for you to wake up, to recover from the poison; I would not have been so eager to care for your every need. If anything, Aveline, I am _selfless_. I care more about my friends, this land and you than I do about myself."

Finally, she looked up into his eyes, blinking slowly, deliberately. His intense, golden eyes softened as he leaned in and placed a soft kiss on her forehead, then on each cheek, causing her breathing pattern to change. "Connor..." she exhaled, her chest heaving against his. He remained silent, leaving a light kiss on her jaw before he placed his lips on her neck, nipping the flesh there as his hands held her hips in place. She gasped softly, running her soft hands up his biceps to his broad shoulders. He found his skin humming all over with ecstasy, slowly causing his body heat to rise.

He removed his lips from her skin and stared hard into her eyes, the glisten of longing in his pupils. "I cannot...We cannot..." he said, yet he was still holding on to her. Aveline understood, and helped him by unhooking her arms from around his neck and pushing him away gently.

It took all his strength to leave her in such a state, her eyes following after him, beckoning him to stay. When had he become such a man, without self-control, wanting a woman that was not his to claim?

Without a word, and certainly without looking into her eyes, he exited the room and promptly shut the door behind him.

* * *

**Guys, I am so sorry for another late update. I've been so busy, I haven't had very much me-time. I hope this update makes up for the time you had to wait. I'll try to get up chapter 14 sooner than later, maybe in less than 2 weeks' time.**

**Things are starting to heat up in the Homestead between Connor and Aveline, aren't they? So close to that kiss, but we still have a bit more to go. So as I said, this is NOT a love triangle between Connor, Haytham and Aveline, nor between them and Nathaniel. He has his eyes on a girl named Rachel and we will learn more about her as the story progresses. But the Templars have something up their sleeve; it'll be devious and epic at the same time, so hopefully I can execute it properly.**

**If you feel up to it, please do review and let me know how you feel about this chapter. I feel like I dragged out some parts and rushed the others, so forgive me for that.**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Once again, thanks guys for being so patient with me and for all of the support you show towards this story.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Ubisoft, so please don't sue.**

**Note: This is going to be the most epic chapter in this story.**

* * *

**Fight for Love**

"I do not know what I did wrong, Nathaniel."

"What did you say to her?"

"I simply told her the truth: that I care about her and others more than I do about myself. There is nothing wrong with feeling that way."

"Maybe she's scared," he replied, peeling the skin off of his apple.

"Scared? I have not done anything to make her fear for her safety."

"_You_ may not think you haven't, but do you truly know what demons lurk in her mind? Maybe someone she thought she loved said the same thing, but they broke her trust in some way. Women are complex creatures, indeed, but you have to understand, they're not quick to give themselves over to just any man because of a few fancy words, especially a woman like Aveline."

"What do you mean?"

"She's a very intelligent, observant woman. Either she saw you do something that didn't sit well with her, or she's simply not trusting her own feelings towards you."

"I cannot have done something wrong. If I am not with her, then I am helping someone else. And now, most of my time goes towards Dr. White's office since she has taken to avoiding me these past 12 days. She refuses to speak more than a few words to me every day, even when we are alone. It is maddening, to have these feelings for the very person who does not want anything to do with you."

Nathaniel took a bite of his apple and swallowed, "It's not that she doesn't want to be with you; she's afraid that what happened between you two will follow through all the way next time―did something happen between you two?" he asked, leaning in closer.

Connor shifted on his feet as he contemplated exactly how much he should tell. Quite honestly, he had loved the way he felt when he did what he did. The part of him that had been dormant for years as he struggled to find peace once again had suddenly been awakened at that moment. It was like a caged beast that had been let free the second that his lips make contact with her skin. He couldn't deny himself; he wanted her, and he hoped that she felt the same.

"No. I simply cornered her and told her the truth." The red-headed Assassin studied him for a moment before his eyes flickered to the Homesteaders. A certain young woman was busy conversing with Elizabeth with a warm smile on her brown face. A small grin appeared on his own face, that Connor noticed immediately.

"You are fond of Rachel," he stated, breaking the other love-struck man's concentration.

His eyes casually drifted down to the dirt. "So what if I am? Are you going to tell me it's forbidden?"

"No. Love does not have a color, nor can you control how you feel about a person." Their eyes met, and Nathaniel felt it right to give him a bit more respect for not being like his family, who used people like Rachel to make their profits and fatten their bellies. "But something tells me she is not the first colored woman you've grown attached to."

The elder Assassin clenched his jaw, bittersweet memories entering his mind. "The only thing I regret about loving Victoria was not being able to save her. The worst feeling in the world is being powerless to stop the death of the woman you love." His voice was hollow, distant, as if trying to remove the pain that was threatening to resurface and cripple him entirely. "But that was ten years ago. I have to move on."

"Mourning lasts from the point of your loss until the day you draw your last breath. Say what you must to keep focused, but do not be dishonest with yourself."

Their conversation ended when Rachel caught sight of the pair and made her way over to them. "Good morning, Connor. Nate."

"Good morning, Rachel. How are you enjoying your stay in the Homestead?" Connor asked.

"It's much better than Saint Domingue or Louisiana. It's not hot every day like it is back home." Her light brown eyes turned to the other Assassin, whose hardened demeanor suddenly softened when she approached. "Nate, are you still going to help me today?"

"Of course. I don't go back on my promises. I'll be back in time for lunch, Connor." The two started off down the road in light conversation, Rachel pulling down his hood playfully as they walked.

It was time for him to approach Aveline―_again_, but this time, her behavior was in question. The last time he had seen her, she was in the kitchen preparing something for breakfast. He headed into the manor and made his way down the hall, the smell of freshly baked bread wafting into his nostrils. She was wearing a red scarf on her head, a blue knit top, and brownish-gray pants; he had never seen her in such a garb, but even still, the gentle slope of her neck and the curve of her bottom were just as visible and enticing.

"Breakfast is ready if you want it," she told him, her back still turned to him. She was using that clipped, cold tone again.

"Thank you, but we must talk first, Aveline," he said to call her attention. She turned, her bright hazel eyes boring into his. He approached her slowly, and she backed into the counter top, yet he didn't press his body against hers. Rather, he kept a small distance between them, just to see how her once cool demeanor quickly transitioned into one of panic and heated anticipation.

Her rosebud lips were just a few inches away, but he didn't think it was appropriate to act on his impulse at the moment. "About what?" she asked, her sultry voice still thick with sleep.

"Why you have been avoiding me for the past two weeks."

"I've been busy," she lied, her gaze avoiding his.

"With what?"

"Doing personal things."

"Like?"

"Connor, you don't ask a woman about her personal business!" she hissed, venom in her eyes.

He lifted her chin with his index finger, and quirked a brow; her defenses faltered immediately. "That still does not explain why you run from me whenever you get the chance."

"I..." her face reddened as she struggled for an answer.

"Yes?" he asked, his thumb brushing against her cheek.

"I can't think if you keep touching me like that!" she said, pushing him away. Aveline snatched up a croissant and began eating it. "I can't do this, Connor."

"What?" he growled. "You do not share the same feelings that I have for you?"

"I can't...trust you with how I feel. I don't trust anyone. My mother left me when I was still a little girl, and I haven't been able to get close to anyone since." His expression softened, and she sensed that he was going to try to trap her again; Aveline began to back away, "I'm sorry, but I just can't," she whispered before hurrying out of the kitchen.

* * *

"Sir, we've searched everywhere for her, but she's nowhere to be found. Lady Aveline has fled the premises."

Haytham looked up from the parchment on his table, his lips a thin line. "I don't understand; I did everything right by her. I fed her, I practically had a new dress made for her, and most importantly, I saved her life!" he scoffed. "Running away makes no sense whatsoever, Charles."

"Well, she can't have run away if you didn't inform her of your intentions; you never told her she _couldn't_ leave."

Glaring at his second in command, he got to his feet. "She has no idea where she's going; if the animals had gotten to her, then we would've found her remains. But something tells me she's safe, so I can only hope that she hasn't returned to New Orleans already. My plans with her remain unfinished."

"We have more important matters to handle than some _woman―"_

In a flash, Charles found himself pinned to the wall by his throat as his commander held his blade to his neck. His blue eyes had grown eerily dark and menacing. "Aveline is not just _some woman_; she is to be at my side while I create a Templar empire on this land. No other woman would I rather have but someone who would easily replace Ziio," he stated, tightening his grip.

"I'm sorry...sir," he gasped, trying to release his grip.

Very quickly, his temper subsided and he retracted his blade. "Whether she comes back to me, or I have to find her, she will be mine. But for now, it's time I set this plan in motion."

* * *

If anyone knew Achilles by name, then they must've had friends in high places. So it was urgent that he slip out of the house that morning to meet this person.

His name was Judas Evans, an informant from the settlements further north, on the borders of the wilds surrounding Boston. He had been in hiding for several weeks, avoiding the major cities that were crawling with Templars disguised as Red Coats. They had a bounty on his head, for he carried important information.

He was the only bureau leader with the entire layout of the Assassin dens spread throughout the thirteen colonies. It had only made sense that John De La Tour had one copy made and kept in a single location. Word must have gotten out through a mole that Judas was carrying it, and the Templars were desperate to have that key information. They were like starved beasts, more fierce than ever before, and eager to wipe out the Assassins as soon as possible. Another report had come in from Baltimore; the four Assassin bureaus established there had been ransacked and burned to the ground, with the informants murdered in cold blood.

Achilles refused to let another purge happen; it had occurred once in his life. It was not going to happen again.

It took Judas nearly an hour to finally arrive at their rendez-vous point in an alley behind the old church in the merchant district. "I'm sorry for arriving late; there were Templars all over the harbor, so I couldn't leave my hiding spot," the younger, deathly pale man said. He had deep bags under his eyes, and his lips were chapped and broken. He looked like he hadn't eaten in days.

"You don't seem to be doing well, Judas. Is everything alright?" he asked. The informant focused his deep grey eyes on the old man's face before looking away quickly.

"I'm fine, I haven't been sleeping much. There was so much blood the day they came for me. Everyone was slaughtered where they stood; no one had a chance to escape. If we don't act soon, there will be no brotherhood left to save."

"We will endure this assault and we will fight back, Judas. Where is the map?"

"I...I don't have it."

Achilles jaw slackened. "Where is it, then?" He hesitated to reply and he jabbed his cane into the cobblestone. "Out with it, boy!"

"The Templars have it. I-I'm so sorry―"

"Well done, Judas. You truly do live up to your name," a more sinister voice interrupted, causing the both of them to turn to the source of the voice.

"Haytham Kenway," Achilles spoke with absolute disgust. "I should have known."

"Yes, you should have. And you should have kept your promise not to get involved with the Assassins for the rest of your life, but here you are. We let you go once, old man," he said, signaling for his men to emerge. They all had their muskets pointed at him. "But this time, we'll make sure you don't forfeit the deal." One man approached Achilles and began to tie up his arms.

"Whatever you have planned, Haytham, it won't work. The Templars will never succeed."

"Sure we will. The best way to kill a snake is to cut off its head. Without you, the remaining Assassins will have no one to lead them and they will be lost all the more so in their struggle to maintain order and peace."

The two men glared at one another in tense silence. "Your father would be disappointed in you."

Haytham clenched his jaw tight just before he struck Achilles across the face with the butt of his flintlock pistol. The old Assassin's head drooped in his unconscious state as they dragged him away.

"You didn't know my father. And you never will."

* * *

Aveline had gotten the hunch to follow Achilles the moment she saw the old man climbing into the carriage to go into Boston. He hadn't told either of them that he was going to be away from the manor for a while, so something must have been going on; something serious.

So she followed on horseback, careful not to alert him to her presence and receive a thorough scolding as a result. Once in town, she dismounted and trailed close behind, but not too close. Achilles didn't seem to be in any sort of panic or discomfort, so he must've been meeting with one of the informants about the increased activity of the Templars.

She lingered behind an old wooden shed, watching Achilles as he waited for his contact. Moments later, the young, pale man appeared. Something about him made her feel uneasy, but she didn't spring into action just yet. Their conversation was difficult to hear with all of the commotion going on in the streets, but she heard bits and pieces of what he was telling the old man. It didn't sound good for the Assassins, but Achilles wouldn't show any doubt or fear in the face of immense adversity, that she knew for sure.

Suddenly, Achilles' tone changed as he shouted, "Out with it, boy!" and he struggled for his next words until a third voice interrupted their conversation. Aveline's heart dropped when she realized who the third man was.

Haytham. He was a Templar. She couldn't believe it; the shock of the truth knocked the wind out of her as she turned away to collect her breath. How could she have missed that important detail? Why didn't her gift help her sense that she had been in the company of the enemy for two days' time, eating with him, laughing with him as if they were good, old friends?

Feeling quite overwhelmed, she resumed eavesdropping, only in time to see Haytham strike Achilles across the face with the butt of his flintlock pistol. It took all of her strength not to pounce on the Templar with the mad fury of a hellcat. She would be outnumbered and easily detained; she needed to get back to Connor, and tell him what was going on, as well as receive assistance in rescuing their mentor. But first, she had to follow them and see where they were headed; maybe they'd lead her back to the mansion she had escaped from the night before.

They took their time exiting the city through the northwest gate, cleverly hiding Achilles in his incapacitated state in a cart of hay until they were far away. One guard hauled him out and tossed him in a cramped cell on wheels, not even bothering to pick up his cane and set it next to him. Such disrespect for the elderly, although an adversary, made her blood boil.

Once they were out of eye shot, she grabbed the cane and continued to follow at a distance. They carried her mentor about two hours north of Boston to the mansion she hadn't realized was so immense, and crawling with Templars. It was built like a fort, with spiked metal fences, guard dogs, and nimble guards on the roofs keeping a close eye on their surroundings. Storming the mansion would only decimate their forces, which were already spread thin in the colonies. Either way, she had to get back to the Homestead, regroup with Connor and Nathaniel, and decide what to do from there. She still didn't know what they wanted from Achilles; if they had wanted to kill him then they would've done so already.

What were they planning?

As she pondered deeply about Haytham's next move, she was caught off guard by the heavy piece of metal that collided with her skull, rendering her unconscious.

"We'll see how Haytham will treat you, now that he'll know your allegiances are against him." Haytham's second in command turned to the two Templars accompanying him, "Tie her up and put her with the other Negro." They obeyed silently, and he followed as they carried her away. He broke from their path and headed to the first floor of the house, eager to tell Haytham of his discovery.

He found his superior in his study, looking over a few maps of Boston and the surrounding areas. "What is it, Charles?"

"I have a little surprise in the cellar. If you've time, sir, come with me," he said with a sinister smirk. Haytham, who glanced around the room for a moment, followed, his hands fixed behind his back.

"This had better be important, Charles," he warned darkly. "This plan needs to be executed as soon as possible."

"This is very important. It will not disappoint you." With each step, Charles' anticipation of the pleasure and shock that would cross his Master's face grew. When they finally reached the wine cellar, he pounded on the door twice, and a big guard with an ax opened it wide.

"We're here to see the Assassins."

"The old one is still out cold. The woman though―she's a spitfire if I ever saw one," the Templar chuckled, letting them inside. "She woke up spitting French like a madman."

Charles looked on as Haytham made an effort to peer into the large cage in front of them. The dim lighting from the candlebras in the corner made it hard for him to see her face.

"Turn around so that I may see you, Assassin." The figure tensed up at the sound of voice, and she slowly turned to face him. Her slim, yet shapely silhouette seemed very familiar to him, and his suspicions became reality when he saw the glint of her emerald-colored eyes.

"Haytham?"

* * *

Nathaniel knew he was in love. He had been in love once before; the feeling was scary yet liberating.

But so soon after meeting her for the first time, he didn't know whether he was lusting after the girl or if his heart was desperate to fill the void that Sarah had left behind with her death.

He resolved not to see her anymore after that day; something serious could happen, and he'd blame himself for the consequences. While his mind urged him to leave Rachel alone, let her and her family be without his interference, the longings of his heart told him otherwise. He was not impure in his thoughts of her; he simply wanted to be around her, from sunrise to sunset. He wanted to make her laugh, make her smile, make her forget the past she left behind in Louisiana, though the scars on her arms wouldn't allow it whenever she glanced at them.

It was their conversation at the pond that helped him come to the best decision.

Rachel was wearing a cap sleeve dress made of light yellow cotton, its hem designed so that it complimented the wearer's neck and collarbone. The Assassin found himself staring at that golden brown piece of flesh every few seconds, and she didn't ease the situation by laying next to him on her stomach, counting the petals of the dandelions before her. In the silence, he could admire her every feature: her almond eyes, her rounded nose, her rosebud lips, the small mole on her chin. She was beautiful, and he had unwillingly been pulled into a trance by it.

Although much more subtle, Rachel didn't deny her feelings towards the fiery-haired man from Jamestown. She cared about him, that he could tell. But he was hesitant; what if that was the depth of her attachment to him, just general concern? He would look like a fool, having unrequited love.

"Nathaniel...I can tell that you're sad," she said, staring hard at the blades of grass.

He opened his eyes and turned to her. "Sad?"

"When you think no one is looking, I can see the sadness in your eyes, like you're missing someone." Her honey brown eyes flicked to his pale face. "Do you fancy another woman while you're with me?"

He cleared his throat, eager to allay her concern, "No." Yet, he decided that he would make _her_ confess her feelings first. He wanted to be sure. "But we're just friends, so even if I am, you'd support me, right?" He watched her full lips twitch, nearly into a frown, but she hid her feelings well.

"Of course, if she's worth the time," she replied quietly. "So...are you?"

"Yes. She lives not too far from here; she's funny, she's smart, and she's very attractive." With each attribute, he noted that her face became more and more placid to keep herself from showing visible discomfort, and even jealousy.

"Sounds like the perfect woman."

"She is," he replied, staring at her intently. Her line of sight was keenly fixed on a nearby marigold until he placed his hand on hers. "Rachel―"

"I hope you two find happiness together," she cut him off with a bright smile. "You need it."

"Rachel, how do you feel about this?"

"I'll be supportive―"

"That's not what I asked." Nathaniel sat up and stared deep into her eyes. "How do you _feel_ about this? About me?" This woman was going to burn him inside out unless she told him the truth.

Her eyes searched his face before her mahogany skin began to redden. "I care about you, Nathaniel. More than I should."

His heart dropped. "What do you mean?"

"We're friends, we've known each other a little less than a week, and I find myself getting jealous because you like another woman. I'm not supposed to feel this way."

He mentally wiped the sweat off of his brow. "Rachel...that woman is you." Her eyes widened, and she covered her mouth with her hands. He chuckled, finding her embarrassment adorable.

"How can you be so sure, Nate? Maybe it's just a fetish, a boyhood fancy―"

"Rachel, I'm a grown man, and I know my feelings. I like you. That's it and that's all."

Now she looked like she was on the verge of tears; he began to get uncomfortable. He didn't like it when women cried and he had to stand around and watch them break down into an uncontrollable mess of sobs and frantic ramblings.

"What are you proposing we do?" she asked, sitting up. Her bouncy, black curls sat on her shoulder and he entangled his sizable fingers in them.

"Exactly―"

"Nathaniel!" the big Native's voice interrupted their intimate moment. Groaning, Nate gave her an apologetic look and got to his feet just as Connor came to a grinding halt.

"What is it?"

The brown man had a thin, clean scratch on his cheek. "Achilles has been taken captive and the city is under attack! We have to help the Assassin recruits protect the citizens."

Nathaniel replaced his hood on his head, and looked to Rachel. She seemed panicked and afraid. "Warn your family and find somewhere to hide until I come and find you. They'll be searching the woods surrounding Boston for anyone affiliated with Assassins." As he started to walk away, she grabbed hold of his forearm, causing him to turn around.

"Be careful," she said, pleading with him with her eyes. He nodded once, hesitated, and she took the moment to place a quick kiss on his cheek before she hurried away towards her home. The Assassin wanted to make sure she made it, but there was no time to waste.

He jogged to catch up with Connor, whose hand was ready at the hilt of his tomahawk. "Are the Templars attacking the city?"

"Yes. They've managed to pay off a small group of Red Coats to start trouble. We've gotten reports of houses being burned, women being attacked, and business being ransacked. Boston is a complete mess right now, and we have to keep them from destroying it completely," Connor growled. Something was wrong; he was more hostile than usual. He seemed on edge, like a threatened wild beast.

"Where's Aveline?"

"In the city."

* * *

Aveline didn't know whether to be absolutely terrified, or relieved that Haytham was as calm as he was when he discovered her true allegiances. Instead of ordering her to a terrible death by hanging or being sawn asunder, he asked for her to be released to him.

And here she was, in his room again. Clothed in nothing but a loose white shirt and her underthings. Why her slave disguise had been taken away, she didn't know, and it didn't seem like he wanted to ravish her.

So what did he really want with her?

He simply looked out the window at the lush,green world around them in deafening silence while the clock on the wall ticked every painful, tense second. "Do you know the true intention of the Templars, Aveline?"

"It's simple enough: complete control. No personal freedoms, no right to choose―a world where choice renders punishment."

"It is more than just control; it's protection from oneself. True, there are certain liberties taken away when there is law, but are they not for our own good? Take gravity, for example. It keeps us on the ground, but if we were to break that law by walking off a cliff, the result would be our own demise. The Templars only want what's best for mankind and its future."

"What _they_ and _you_ want is absolute power. Your promises of peace are empty."

"Aveline, it's merely compromise. You trade a measure of freedom for security, very similar as to why a woman marries."

She started to say something, but fell silent. He was right, but she wouldn't be tricked by his cunning. "Why did you let me go? I'm not bound or being held at gunpoint; I could attack you right now and end your life," she hissed, narrowing her eyes.

"I let you go because I know you won't succeed," he said, then turned to her. "And I know you don't want your friends to die."

Her eyes widened,"What?"

"Your Assassin allies fighting to protect the citizens of Boston: the Native, the Assassin from Jamestown, and all of those who've sworn to your creed. It's quite interesting to see them fight so hard to protect something that will not stand another day."

"What are you going to do to Boston?" she asked.

"Very soon, it will exist no more, and that's all that matters. The Crown's men will destroy it completely, leaving it wide open for the taking."

She scooted to the edge of the bed, eager to find Connor and Nathaniel. "You're going to kill all those people and build a Templar city on their ashes. When I first met you, I thought you were a man of morals," she said in disbelief. He walked towards her and she tensed, drawing away from him.

"I _am_ a man of morals. Sacrifices must always be made for the greater good. Don't you understand?" She stared hard at him, boring holes into his cobalt blue eyes. His fingers brushed the skin of her cheek and she jumped. "There's no need to be afraid, Aveline. I don't intend to harm you, but I will exert force if you don't do as I say." The warmth in his voice had faded, and was replaced with an underlying threat in his tone.

"Now come with me," he said, grabbing her by her arm and helping her to her feet, "We're going on a little trip."

* * *

There was no use in fighting anymore; it was a slaughter.

Cannons had fallen at least a dozen houses and decimated a church near the harbor of the city, bodies were strewn in the streets, paving the cobblestone with crimson red blood, and the Assassin recruits were spread thin throughout the city, vastly outnumbered by the Red Coats.

Nathan and Connor were back to back, defending one another from harm. There were at least a dozen men in red uniforms surrounding them, all eager to end their lives then and there.

"It's useless! There's a whole fleet of them coming from the docks. They're like roaches, they're everywhere!" the red-headed Assassin shouted over the sound of clashing swords and yells of pain and anguish.

"We have to get to the harbor and destroy their ships!" Connor whistled loudly, and a healthy spray of arrows littered the air before they hit as many Red Coats as possible, easily clearing the way for them. "Come on!" The two Assassins sprinted down the cobblestone street, trying to avoid the confrontation as much as possible and halted once the stone became wooden planks. Seemingly, no one was guarding the ship, with the exception of three heavily armed sentries.

There were no ships; just one massive vessel capable of housing several hundred soldiers. "Look," Nathaniel pointed at some wooden barrels on the neighboring dock, "If we can get those powder kegs on board and light them up, then we may be able to stop their reinforcements long enough to evacuate the citizens."

"You will carry the gun powder; I will defend you," Connor said, removing his tomahawk. Nathan grabbed one barrel and hoisted it on his shoulder, following close behind the Native as they boarded the sea cruiser. "We will have to find a vulnerable spot on the ship, so that we may blow a hole and sink it."

"Shouldn't you be worried about Aveline?" he asked, his blue-green eyes on the Red Coat that had spotted them, and was making his way over with his saber in his hand.

"If she were in our situation, she would be focused on the mission at hand, not on me." With great force, he lunged forward at the guard, hooking his axe under his blade and thrusting it up and into the air. While he was focused on catching it before it fell, Connor drove his tomahawk into his chest and shoved him aside. The other three came running over, and the Native grabbed one by the front of his coat, and smashed his head against his with a sickening crunch. The man stumbled backwards, but failed to recover before Connor moved around him, drove the axe into his back, and used the momentum from his swing to get another, watching him fall face first to the floor as he clutched his throat. Nathaniel didn't know whether to be terrified or amazed at the dexterity and prowess that his younger ally showed.

He was like an angry bear with the swift, lethal strikes of a wolf in the wild. This Assassin that their brothers in creed had been talking about was most definitely the half-Native standing in front of him. The last Red Coat grew ghostly pale as Connor approached him, and dropped his weapon before running for the edge of the boat, and jumping overboard. After hearing the splash, the younger Assassin put his axe away.

"Let us get down to the second level." They descended the stairs and walked in silence for a moment, until Nathan asked, "Once this is over, will you and Aveline finally tell one another how you feel?"

"...I do not know how she feels about me. One moment, she is excited to see me, the next, she acts as if I have the pox."

"It's obvious you two have strong feelings for one another. She's just afraid to trust you. If you are the first to reveal your feelings, then she will reply in kind. Victoria admitted that she wanted me to say it first, so that I couldn't reject her."

"And what of you and Rachel?" Connor asked, spotting the door leading to the hull of the ship.

"We're just friends."

"Then why do your eyes follow her with longing?" He turned to Nathaniel, putting his hand on the door knob. But he didn't want to open the door until the elder Assassin told the truth about his own feelings.

Hesitating to reply, they stared at one another briefly before he opened the door, only to have a flintlock pistol shoved into his chest.

"Hello...son."

* * *

Just an hour ago, he had resolved to blow the ship, and swim to shore.

Just half an hour ago, he had resolved to find Aveline and confess his love to her.

Just fifteen minutes ago, he had resolved to escape from the boat alive.

And just five minutes ago, he had resolved not to kill his own father.

"I know it's difficult, seeing me for the first time in a while, Connor, especially having his gun pointed at you."

"It is not as if you have not tried to kill me before. I remember that day in Boston, when you sent those Red Coats after me. Your own son. First, my mother, and now you have returned to kill me, too," he growled.

Haytham folded his arms behind him, bowing his head. "I didn't kill your mother or your people that died that day. Your so-called courageous leader and commander of the colonial army sent those men to burn your village to the ground. I wanted to protect your mother, even marry her. But she refused to see me."

"And rightly so," he said hotly, balling his hands into fists. "You are a Templar. Their Master. The puppeteer."

"Am I not Achilles, but on the other side of the coin?"

"You are _not_ Achilles. He is more of a father than you have ever been to me." Haytham's face remained calm, but he could see the discomfort, and even remorse in his eyes.

"And I regret not being there to witness your birth, to see you grow, to train you―"

"For what? For your purposes? I would be speaking untruth and deception as you are now."

"You must believe me, son. I'm telling you the truth, which I will always do. Your friends, however―Washington, Adams, Pitcairn―they speak out of both sides of their mouth, promising you security for your people as long as you help them, while forging plans to sell the land under the table."

"Be quiet," he hissed, glaring at his father. "You will not put doubt in my mind."

"Very well. I guess there will be no changing of your mind. So let us handle the business that matters most." The Master Templar started to pace the room. "Boston is in ruins, your Assassin recruits are failing to protect the people, and you're vastly outnumbered. I have five hundred men ready for battle, waiting just north of the city. I will end this attack, call back my men, and allow you to retreat to your hideout in the woods."

Connor thought for a moment. "No. You will continue to build your Templar forces as long as I allow you. What happened to Achilles will not happen again."

Haytham watched his son for a moment, studying the irrational resolve in his golden brown eyes. "You're much like your mother: stubborn, head strong, can't be convinced of much. But I almost forgot to mention what you would lose, should you not surrender. If you don't give up, I will kill your beloved mentor."

"Achilles would let me die. He will not be upset with my decision."

"And Aveline, as well." He watched his son's jaw, once taut with arrogance, slacken once he mentioned the woman's name. "I figured you were the reason why she left my home late at night. She missed you, as a lover rightfully should."

"We are not lovers."

"Then what are you to one another?" he asked, surprised. "Oh, you two have yet to confess your love for one another. Well, it seems you will never have the opportunity once I put a bullet through her forehead."

Connor's eyes narrowed, and his lips thinned until they were nonexistent. "Fine. I will surrender."

His father seemed pleased, sighing softly as a small smile appeared on his face. "You were very quick to compromise your entire brotherhood for the life of a woman. Love certainly moves people to make great sacrifices."

"You had your chance to experience that, and now you will never have the opportunity again," his son replied. The elder man jutted out his chin, glaring at his offspring with contempt.

"As much as I would like to give the both of them to you," Haytham droned, before quickly removing his pistol, "Keeping them with me as my two largest bargaining chips is better. Do not follow me and they will continue to live. Do not give chase or I will know." He knocked twice on the door, and two big Templars stepped through, allowing him past before they closed the door.

Connor had no weapons; they had been taken from both him and Nathaniel as soon as they arrived in the underground tunnel. His ally was locked in a cell not too far from where he was being held. They had to save Aveline and Achilles from his father. He had gone mad with his ideals of a utopian society where the Templars controlled every human being with an iron fist.

"What are your orders concerning me?" he asked the two men.

"We're supposed to stand guard until Master Haytham is a safe distance away. When we get the signal, we're supposed to kill you to keep you from trying to reach the boat."

"You stupid arse! He's not supposed to know!" the other Templar said. With the two arguing among themselves, Connor took the opportunity to grab one, twist his neck, and take his weapon.

"No, please! I―" Before he could finish pleading with his life, Connor drove the knife deep into his chest, and removed it before ripping open the door and looking up and down the corridor in a panicked hurry. Nathaniel was around there somewhere.

"Nathaniel!" he shouted.

"Connor!" he replied almost immediately. He heard the sound of shuffling feet, and the elder Assassin appeared, the front of his uniform smeared with blood. He had a captain's sword in his hand and a long knife in the other. "I escaped the prison cell; it was old and rusty, so breaking the lock was nothing." He removed Connor's tomahawk and hunting knife. "I got your weapons for you; I saw Haytham walking in the opposite direction they brought us. I overhead some of the guards saying he was taking his ship out to sea, sailing towards the Caribbean."

"If we can get to the end of this tunnel, then we can catch him before he sets sail." They nodded in understanding, and began sprinting down the catacombs. The Templars had dispersed long ago and were more and likely boarding the ship.

"They must've built these to navigate the city quicker and connected it to the harbor so that the Templars could spread throughout the city easier."

"I came across one some months ago and thought nothing of it. If I had known, I would have blown the tunnels long ago and we would not be in this situation."

"Let the past be past, my friend. We must save your woman and your mentor." The tunnel seemed to stretch on and on, the never ending dank, unpleasant smell of mold burning Connor's nostrils. Finally, they reached the end, and he drove his shoulder into the door that separated them from their target. The profound darkness that surrounded them suddenly burst into light and the sound of gulls cawing in the windy air. They both looked up and down the dock, when they heard someone shout, "Connor!"

It was Aveline. She was standing at the tail of the ship, her eyes wide and pleading to him.

"Aveline!" he shouted back, running to the edge of the dock, but not jumping in. They were already too far away for him to catch up. He watched as his father calmly emerged and grabbed her by her shoulder, pulling her farther away. "We have to go back to the Homestead and chase after them on the Aquila."

"Is your ship made for battle? A cruiser that big could easily wipe us out with one volley." They headed towards the stables at the edge of town; Nathaniel watched as Connor's disposition solidified into complete resolve and determination. He looked as if he didn't rescue Aveline in the next ten seconds, he was going to kill someone.

"We will get her back."

* * *

Once they reached the Homestead, Nathaniel went to check on Rachel and her family, while Connor went to change into his captain's uniform.

What remained of his Assassin recruits were resting in the Homestead, now that the attack on Boston had ended. When the _Daestro_ set sail, the Templars had all but vanished from the town, leaving it mostly in ruin. All that was left to do was rebuild over the destruction that Haytham had caused.

_'"You were very quick to compromise your brotherhood for the life of a woman"'_ his father's words echoed in his mind. Angrily, he pounded his fist on the wall, trying to calm himself.

He admitted that Aveline was the only woman he'd ever love, and now she was slowly but surely slipping further and further away.

He needed her. Leaning his head on the wooden paneling of the door frame, "Aveline...I am coming for you," he whispered before placing his hat on his head and heading down the stairs.

The moment he opened the door, someone attempted to end his life then and there with a small knife. "You have betrayed us!" a familiar voice said.

"Kanen:tokon? What are you talking about?" he asked, breathing heavily. The other Native stepped foot into the foyer of the manor, his brown eyes fierce and burning with hatred.

"The Crown has promised us land and freedom, and you are fighting against them―and us, for the sake of that 'Brotherhood' you seem to care about more than your own people. You favor the white devils that have killed thousands!"

"Kanen:tokon, my friend, they have twisted your mind. See past the deception! Washington means to liberate all of us, and I am helping him keep our people safe. Do you not understand?"

"Lee said you would say something like that, to try to trick me!" he growled, readying himself for battle. "I cannot let you kill Master Haytham or Charles Lee. They mean to help us, and you mean to destroy us."

Connor saw that there would be no convincing him, and so he removed his hunting knife from its hilt and crouched into his defensive position. "Kanen:tokon, I do not want to hurt you. I do not want to fight."

"But you will not allow yourself to die, either. That woman 's survival depends on you." He lunged at Connor, and tackled him to the floor with a crashing thud. His knife's tip was dangerously close to his eye. "All this time, I thought you were fighting for us. Johnson was trying to help us, and I assisted you in finding him to put him to death. _I _ will fix this by killing you." There was bloodlust in his eyes, and had replaced the loving warmth that once glistened whenever he looked into them.

"I am sorry, Kanen:tokon," he said, exposing his hidden blade and forcefully driving it into his chest. His blood stained the front of his uniform before he set him aside on the floor next to him.

His friend began to cough, struggling to breathe. "Killing me will not solve anything. You have betrayed us," he said weakly.

"Rest, my friend. Your suffering is at its end," Connor said softly, placing his hands on his chest. "I am sorry it has to end this way."

"I...am not...This will...haunt you...to your resting place...and I will have no forgiveness waiting for you in the afterlife." At that, the life in his eyes faded, and his body stilled.

"Connor, I saw someone―" Nathan's voice interrupted the silence, until he saw Kanen:tokon lying on the floor. "He meant to kill you."

"Leave us in peace, Nathaniel. Please," Connor said, his voice trembling. The red-haired man nodded once in understanding, and quietly left the manor. Once alone, the Native lowered his head and wept in silence.

* * *

Nathaniel met him at the crest of the hill that overlooked the old dock where the Aquila sat, waiting to be taken out on the water. "Are you ready?" Connor asked.

"As ready as ever. Rachel and her family are safe." They approached Mr. Faulkner, who was standing at the loading plank with his spyglass in hand.

"The crew is ready to go after them, Captain! We're awaiting your orders."

The Assassins boarded the boat, and Connor took his place at the helm while Nathan stood next to him. "Once we get out into the open sea, we'll be heading southwest, all sails in the wind."

"Aye, Connor." The older man shouted the orders to the crew and they began climbing the masts and loosening the ropes that held fast the sails. The _Aquila_ began to pick up speed, and fortunately the wind was with them that day.

He was determined to end this once and for all.

* * *

Aveline _hated_ being tied up, so when Haytham had ordered his men to do so before boarding the boat, the moment they came off, she lunged at him, eager to claim his life. He simply moved beyond her reach and let her roam the ship as she pleased.

It was as if fate had a hand in her standing at the back of the ship, just in time to see two white-clad figures appear from underneath the dock. One she immediately recognized as Connor and screamed his name.

She heard him reply, and her heart began to thud loudly in her chest. What stopped her was the fact that Haytham threatened to slit Achilles' throat from ear to ear if she tried to escape and swim to shore.

When he grabbed her by her arm, she wanted to turn around and bite him. _Hard_.

Now she was in the captain's chambers, on his bed, waiting for something to happen. The door opened, and she didn't bother to turn to see who it was. She already knew.

"Connor is going to come for you; he's probably sailing this way right now."

"He will save the both of us." Haytham took a step towards her, and her disposition wavered a little, as if she were suddenly aware that she was sitting on a bed in a locked room with a man whose temperament she didn't fully understand. "And he will kill you."

He chuckled deeply in his throat. "That boy can't even control the simple impulse to speak; what makes you think he can maintain full control of a sword in battle and actually kill someone much more experienced in fighting?"

Aveline licked her bottom lip, the blood vessel just above her brow twitching. Why, everything this man said infuriated her, not only because he may have been right, but she had been so close to giving her affections away so easily to this...madman! "Your overconfidence will be your downfall, Haytham." Instead of replying, he moved towards her slowly, forcing her to get up and back herself into a corner of the captain's quarters.

"I do not display such a quality, but I am certain of my ability to disarm and defeat my own son. My experience is what drew you to me in the first place. Don't tell me you don't have any feelings for me." He placed his hands on either side of her hips, locking her in place. She looked up into his deep blue-grey eyes, seeing that they were the exact opposite of Connor's: placid, unfeeling, cryptive.

"I don't have any feelings for you," she stated plainly, placing her hands flat on his chest to push him away. But he was quick to grab either of her hands and place them flat at her sides while he leaned in, his nose brushing gently against the skin on her neck. She shuddered, remembering that this man was nearly twice her age.

"When I first laid eyes on you, I was mesmerized by your natural allure. Your beauty, your grace―some sort of serenity that comes with being caught in the fine web that you spin," he breathed, his lips on her skin causing her to feel sick.

"Haytham, please..." she begged.

"Please, what? Continue?" He kept her hands at her sides as he guided her to the bed and pinned her between himself and the mattress. Aveline began to worry that he just might take away the very thing that she was trying to protect for the one and only man she'd share a bed with for the rest of her life. "You appear to be anxious, my dear. What do you expect this to be like with the man you decide to share yourself with? He will not always be gentle," he said, nipping her chin lightly, "Nor ask for permission," he made contact with her left cheek and she turned her head away. Haytham gathered her wrists in one hand and forced her to look at him with the other. "What you will ask of Connor will not be given to you. He will disappoint you with his lack of experience."

"Let me be the judge of that," she hissed, venom in her eyes.

"Gladly." He passed his lips over hers, expecting her to give in, so when he felt a sharp, stinging pain course through his bottom lip, he gasped in surprise, pulling away immediately. Placing his index finger on his lip, he brought it to eye level, noting that she had drawn blood. Chuckling, he let her go and got to his feet, straightening his clothes.

"My boy did something right by choosing a lively woman. But it's unfortunate you two will never be able to be together again." Opening the door, he let himself out and closed it firmly before locking it and leaving her alone.

* * *

_'"Connor..."' her voice drifted through the air like light perfume._ _He desperately looked all around for her, but she was nowhere to be found. __'"Connor, save me...please," her tone suddenly turned desperate, and he began to panic._

_There was blood on his hands, but he couldn't find the source. Aveline began to sob, and he called out to her, "Aveline!"_

_Suddenly, she appeared, clenching her bleeding stomach. There was so much red pooling around her. He ran to her, but she fell to the ground before he could reach her. _

_"Aveline!" he yelled, scooping her into his arms. She lay perfectly still, her eyes wide open to the vast blue expanse above them. _

_He heard a soft, malicious chuckle, and looked up. His father was standing there, a bloodied knife in his hands. "I told you not to come after me. She would still be alive." Suddenly, there was a duplicate of the both of them, and he watched in horror as his father pinned Aveline between the wall and himself and drove the blade deep into her midsection, causing her to gasp in shock before the image faded away._

_"And you will not be alive much longer," another sinister voice said. Before Connor could turn, someone had plunged a knife deep into his chest, but he couldn't feel the pain. Grasping the handle, his eyes traveled up and met the cold, icy blue gaze of Charles Lee._

"No!" Connor yelled, ripping himself out of the nightmare. Nathaniel jumped, having fallen asleep, as well. It was a little past sunrise, the red-orange hues in the sky bleeding into the purple-black heavens.

Breathing heavily, he got to his feet, trying to calm his thudding heart. He had never had such a terrible dream, and he wished to never have it again. Aveline was still alive and he was going to rescue her and Achilles.

"Nightmare?" the red-haired Assassin asked, handing him a mug with fresh water.

Connor drank it down quickly. "Yes. But it has passed. How far along are we?"

"We're about half a day's time away from the southern tip of the Florida Territory. If the winds keep sailing us southwest, we'll reach them by midday." It was good news; he was eager to reclaim what belonged to him.

_Yes_, Aveline was his, not his father's. She was _his_ ally. She was _his_ friend. She was _his_ woman, and he would ensure that she knew that the moment they had time alone. He couldn't let anyone else find their way into her heart, not while he was still alive.

He had to tell her that he loved her.

* * *

Aveline did not have a good night's rest. The crew had stayed up all night, drinking ale and making obscene jests about her and her people. They knew she was listening and did not care. Eventually, she drowned them out, and resorted to reading the books on the small shelf above the captain's bed.

Once she figured out they were very...suggestive reads, she put them all back and sat quietly on the bed, listening the ocean water lap and collide gently with the exterior of the boat. She didn't think Haytham would be the sort of man to be interested in such dark things.

Around sunrise, the crew finally fell asleep in their drunken stupor, and she found her eyes closing. It felt as if five minutes had gone by when the door to the captain's quarters opened slowly, and two older women stepped inside.

"We're sorry to wake you, but Master Haytham wants us to bathe you." Aveline, though confused and slightly uncomfortable, agreed and stripped down to nothing before stepping into the warm tub and let them scrub her skin and comb her hair. After drying her off, they left fresh clothes for her and departed.

Once she was done dressing, Charles Lee came to escort her to Haytham's study further down the hall. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that he was wearing a necklace identical to hers, and the design was so rare that she had to know that there was something special about the both of them. But she didn't attempt to take it from him; she was vastly outnumbered and alone at sea.

"Master Haytham has something special in store for you," he told her.

"It's not a pleasant one, I'm sure," she muttered.

"You don't feel so special, now that he doesn't dote on you," he baited. "I knew you were a filthy Assassin the moment I saw you. I could smell deceit; your clothes reeked of it."

Aveline attempted to ignore him as they arrived at their destination and he opened the door, "Have a safe voyage," he smirked evilly before closing the door firmly.

Haytham was at his desk, writing a note of some sort before he put away his quill and ink. "I've never been one to talk in riddles or toy with people, so I will be honest and to the point: you have the choice to live or die on this ship."

"What are the terms?" she asked, tempted to grab the sword laying on his desk and drive it through his heart.

"If I let you live, you will never return to New Orleans or to the colonies. You will stay at our outpost in Havana and stay on my sugar cane plantation. Or you can die here, a martyr for your dear brotherhood. It's your choice."

The Assassin didn't need to think twice. "I would rather _die_ in agony than live as a slave," she spat angrily. He knew how she felt about slavery, an evil means to an end. Her mother was a slave, her mentor was a slave, and one was missing and the other had taken their own life.

"I knew you would make that choice. It's unfortunate you don't desire a comfortable life, elaborate dresses, the finest food, elegant parties." He didn't seem even slightly disappointed. "I could give it all to you; just change your mind here and now and I'll do as you wish." His hand went to his belt and he removed a large hunting knife; she looked from him to the weapon and back to him.

"Non," she replied bravely. "Kill me."

He stood directly in front of her, finally revealing his disappointment in his cobalt eyes. "If that is what you wish." She closed her eyes as he reared back the weapon.

Suddenly, the boat made a loud, sickening crunch sound, and the force from the attack sent the boat to its right side, causing Haytham to drop his knife.

"Master Haytham!" Lee burst into the room, "The savage―he caught up with us! They've rammed the boat and now they're boarding the _Daestro_!"

"That boy will never learn!" he growled, removing his sword. He turned to Aveline, "You're coming with me."

* * *

"Nathaniel, you take six men with you and go below deck to find Achilles! I will take the upper deck and find my father!" Connor commanded, unsheathing his tomahawk. "Once we have them, we'll sink the ship one way or another!"

Nathan nodded in understanding, and took off with his group among the clashing swords and bloodied bodies. The upper deck was in utter chaos; he couldn't tell who was on either side.

He had to find Aveline.

"Ah, my son! Right on time!" Haytham shouted over the noise. The Native's attention was drawn to the back of the ship, where his father and Aveline stood. She was completely unscathed, but her ankles were tied to what looked like an anvil and her arms were bound behind her back.

"Father, stop this madness! Do you see the chaos around you?" he shouted.

"That is precisely why I do what I do; if left to the Assassins, free will would become the agent of chaos, and humanity would destroy itself! You must have control to have peace!" he replied.

"Control only delays chaos. Let Aveline go!"

"I can't just give her to you, son. You will have to fight me for her. Whichever of us lives will have her." He shoved her aside, and readied himself to fight.

Connor braced himself as well, but his thoughts began to swirl.

He was fighting his father.

He might kill his father.

_His own father._ While he was stuck in his thoughts, the Templar stepped forward quickly and cut his sword diagonally through the air, and Connor jumped back, barely missing it. Haytham struck again before he could fully regain his balance and tore the left sleeve of his coat, leaving a clean cut on his forearm.

Grunting softly in pain, Connor moved forward, and landed a hard blow to his father's cheek, sending him staggering back. Spitting a mixture of blood and saliva onto the deck, he laughed.

"You see? You're afraid to kill your own father!" Haytham stepped forward again and grabbed his son, "Surrender now and she will live. But I will be the one to have her, and Achilles will receive his punishment for not honoring our arrangement."

"Never!" he hissed, grabbing his father's wrist and twisting his hand until he yelled in agony and jumped back. "I do not see why my mother fell in love with you." At that, something inside Haytham seemed to snap, and his eyes darkened significantly. His lips formed a thin line as he moved in low and fast, sweep kicking Connor and sending him crashing to the deck floor. He threw his sword aside and wrapped his hands around his son's neck.

"Your mother meant everything to me. We were both tired souls, looking for a place to rest. She was the only woman I loved, and that sniveling, incompetent, inexperienced dolt you call a leader is the one who took her away from me!" His grip continued to tighten and the Native began to see red spots. "I was happy with her! I would've married her if I had the chance! You would not be our only child! But now that she is gone, and that old fool has corrupted you, I have no choice but to kill my only offspring and start again."

"Connor!" Aveline screamed, her anxiety apparent in her tone.

He was resisting. Resisting the urge to defend himself and end the life of his father. But if he didn't, he would die and Aveline would have to live thinking he wasn't strong enough to defeat his father. That he couldn't save her, no matter how hard he tried.

He couldn't die knowing that. The next moment happened in slow motion as he revealed his hidden blade and drove it into his father's neck. Shocked, he let him go and gripped at his wound, staggering backwards.

The male Assassin coughed loudly, trying to regain his breath as he got to his feet. His father glared at him. "It's a shame it had to come to this. A father and son shouldn't have such a cruel fate, to fight one another. I wish I had been able to witness your birth, to watch you grow, but it was not meant to be, and here we are. If your mother were still alive, I wonder which of us she would choose. I'd like to think she wouldn't choose either, but rather try to convince us to end this," he chuckled. Connor found himself smiling inwardly, knowing his mother's personality.

Haytham gripped the side of the boat, his strength failing. "I should have killed you...long ago, but I'm proud of you...in a way. Do not think I will weep and wonder...what could have been, Connor. What's done..." he panted, drawing in his last breath before falling to his knees, "is done." And with that he fell to the deck, dead.

Feeling sick to his stomach, Connor closed his eyes and placed his hand over his face, trying to control his erratic breathing.

How long? How long would this go on? He was tired of losing friends―_family_.

"Connor!" Aveline shouted, and his head snapped up. He felt his insides grow cold; Lee had her up on the boat's rail.

"Aveline!" he shouted. His heart was pounding loudly in his ears. His body told him to run as fast as he could to save her. His mind told him to wait and see what happened next.

"Haytham had a real dream! He was a good man, a wonderful leader! He would have led the colonies into a glorious age of freedom from corruption, but you―you savage! You killed him!" he yelled, wiping at his eyes before cocking his pistol. "Either she jumps or I will shoot her. Better yet―" He pushed her off the side, and she quickly disappeared.

"NOOOO!" Connor yelled.

"And now it's time to end this!" Lee bellowed, aiming his gun at the Assassin. He anticipated the burn of the bullet, searing through his flesh and piercing his heart, making him die a slow, agonizing death. A gunshot echoed through the air, but he didn't feel the impact of the heated metal. Lee's eyes widened as his jaw dropped and he looked down, touching his chest where the bullet had entered.

Connor searched the deck for the culprit, and found Nathaniel standing at the stairs to the lower level with a smoking gun in his hand. Achilles was next to him with a bandage wrapped around his head.

Lee finally fell to the floor, speechless, and Achilles shouted, "Get after her, boy! We'll take care of the boat!"

Without hesitation, Connor sprinted to the side of the boat and leaped off, diving through the air and into the water. The salty content of the ocean burned his fresh wound, but he ignored it as he searched for Aveline in the depths of the sea. Finally, he spotted her, trying to wiggle her arms free, but the cannonball was pulling her down too quickly for her to make it to the surface on her own.

He swam after her, removing his small knife as he grabbed the rope connecting her to the projectile. Glancing at her, he noticed that she was beginning to weaken, her eyes half lidded and her limbs barely moving. She didn't have much time.

Thankfully, the rope wasn't wound very thick, so he was able to cut through the weave fairly swiftly and wrap his arm around her waist, swimming desperately for the surface. His own air reserve was beginning to deplete, and he began to see red spots once again.

Finally, they broke the surface, and he took in a huge gasp of air. "There they are! Throw down a rope, quick!" Nathaniel ordered. A rope unraveled and dropped into the water, and Connor held fast to it as they hoisted them higher and higher into the air. Aveline wasn't moving; he prayed he wasn't too late.

Once on the deck, everyone gathered around, and he began to push them away. "Get back!" he commanded, panting like a madman. His crew obeyed, and Achilles merely stood silent, his eyes fixed on Aveline. The Native turned to her, and cradled her limp body in his arms. "Aveline...please...wake up," he pleaded. She remained absolutely still, her dark lashes unmoving on her tanned face. "Aveline...listen to my voice, and come back to me." The entire world seemed to grow quiet as he watched her for any movement. When she began to cough up the water, Connor felt as if his chest was going to explode. The other men onboard seemed to sigh in relief simultaneously.

Her emerald eyes fluttered open, and she took in all the people around her before she looked to Connor. "Connor...you came for me," she whispered, holding his face in her small hands. Heavens, she was so warm and soft; he never wanted to forget what she felt like.

"I promised I would," he replied, thumbing her cheek with a smile. "Aveline...I love you."

Her smile reached from ear to ear, and her eyes held a warm, affectionate glow. Without hesitation, he pressed his lips to hers, and she responded in kind.

She pulled away, whispering against his lips, "Je t'aime aussi, Connor. I love you, too."

* * *

Sorry for the looooong delay! I got so busy this past month. Hopefully you guys enjoy this chapter and YAY! They finally kissed!

Unfortunately, chapter 15 will be the last (about 11,000 words long), followed by an epilogue, and then this little love story is finished. But not to worry, I have 2 more AC projects I'm working on for future release.


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